


Grey or Blue

by Fatebegins



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Male Lactation, Pack Dynamics, Post Mpreg, Slut Shaming, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-10-23 02:53:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 68,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10710663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatebegins/pseuds/Fatebegins
Summary: Derek Hale wakes to a life that isn't his.DO NOT PUT ANY OF MY WORK ON GOODREADS OR OTHER SITES. This is for fun, not for publishing or profit. My stories are unedited and not intended for a professional forum. Please respect my wishes and privacy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All I can say is that this has been sitting on my laptop and I want it to get off. It's about 75% finished but SO MUCH CAUTION it seems to be hard for me to finish long fics these days.
> 
> This universe is similar to Sex Pistols (the manga if you ever read it, the Were creatures are set up in a similar hierarchy with Wolves at the top).

 

Derek’s head is being split in two.

 

It feels like a hangover but worse; bone deep and unrelenting, gnawing pain crashing and breaking in sharp points within his skull.

 

Whatever thing got to him this time, fucked him up _bad_.

 

There’s a weight on his lids, and when Derek tries to open his eyes, he can’t get them open past narrow slits.

 

There are voices nearby.

 

No, in his room.

 

Wait; not his bedroom.

 

Instinctively, Derek knows this is not his loft. The sheets pulled over his hands and tucked beneath his shoulders don’t feel like his own; they’re too starchy and heavy. He must be in the hospital or in the backroom Deaton keeps for patients of the supernatural variety.

 

“I’m not kidding! Dude, you’re starting to look like a walking scarecrow.”

 

“Wow, thanks buddy, needed to hear that today.” Comes the sarcastic reply. “You have a knack for saying the sweetest things.”

 

“You know what I mean, man.  I’m worried about you.”

 

The voices are familiar.

 

Derek tries to move-- tell them to shut up--but his body won’t obey him. Helplessness isn’t a feeling he’s accustomed to. He doesn’t like it but he has no choice but to lay there and try and regroup.

 

They’re still talking, louder now. They’re going back and forth in their sniping. Seconds tick by and the more time passes, the more panicked Derek gets when he can’t _do_ anything.

 

“I’m fine, okay? Stop trying to force feed me orange juice! Cosmo says scarecrow chic is in!”

 

“You’re too thin.”  And that is _Scott’s_ voice Derek realizes. The bratty beta who grates on his nerves. Derek doesn’t doubt he had something to do with his present condition. “I don’t like it.”

 

Why is Scott here?

 

Where the fuck is he?

 

“Oh my god, Scott, just _shut up_.”

 

That bitchy voice can only belong to Scott’s twitchy side kick Stilinski.

 

“Derek would want you to take care of yourself, especially now that--”

 

“Low blow, prick.” Stilinkski snorts obnoxiously and Derek doesn’t need to be able to see him to know he’s likely flailing those skinny arms of his. “Look…I know I should...I‘m trying.” His voice cracks. “I’m doing the best I can, okay?”

 

The room goes blessedly silent and Derek concentrates on moving, doing anything to let them know he’s awake. Derek seeks his Were, but although he can feel his wolf stirring sluggishly in his veins he can’t connect to it, draw strength from it. _Nothing_.

 

Something is wrong, a part of him is missing. His senses feel dull and eviscerated. His wolf is there but not _there_.

 

This time the flood of panic is enough to make Derek’s dead limbs obey. Derek startles at his own growl, it’s thin and weak but it’s enough.

 

There’s an exclamation and then clamoring.

 

“Derek!” There’s relief and something else in Stilinski’s voice, his hands are on Derek’s face, moving over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.   “Derek?”

 

“Stiles, you know he’s been like this for a month. The specialist said that--”

 

“I _heard_ him this time, Scott, for real. I did.”

 

His hands don’t leave Derek’s face. Derek tries to move away from the warm touch, head lolling to the side of his pillow. He hears Scott make a sound of surprise and then yell for Deaton.

 

There’s a scuffle of footsteps and excited voices.

 

Then Derek’s eyes are being pried open and a bright light blinds him.

 

“He’s conscious.” Deaton pronounces and  the hands still on Derek’s face begin to tremble. “Derek? Derek, I need you to follow the movement of the light.”

 

Derek tries to say something, anything, but he can feel fatigue pulling him back under into the dark. Wetness hits Derek’s cheek just before everything goes black.

 

____________________

 

Stiles moves around the cluttered bedroom quickly, scooping up clothing from the laundry basket and drawers as he goes. Wincing as he encounters a pile of dirty clothes that somehow never made it to the hamper. It feels so much like high school.

 

He’s been staying at his Dad’s for the past couple of weeks.  Throughout this entire nightmare, his father has stepped up without missing a beat.  John had been there since the night Stiles got the horrible phone call about the hit and run, since he saw Derek’s limp and lifeless body wheeled through the emergency room.

 

“How is he today?”

 

“Hi, Dad.” Purposefully, ignoring his father’s question, Stiles stuffs a couple of printed boxers into his half-filled overnight bag.  “Leo asleep?”

 

John nods, leaning back against the doorframe as he watches him, arms folded across his chest. “He’s downstairs in the play pen, didn‘t want to move him. It took me close to an hour to get him to go down.”

 

Stiles winces in sympathy; sometimes he wonders if his kid was secretly born a banshee because the set of lungs on him can bring any mortal to their knees. His poor father, a human, has only ever dealt with a fox, he’s no match for a colicky alpha wolf cub. “He’s not the best sleeper, sorry.”

 

“He’s my grandson, I don’t mind.” John stills him with a hand on the elbow when he tries to get past him at the door. His brown eyes are filled with concern. “Melissa says Derek’s still drifting in and out.”

 

“Stays awake for a few minutes at a time, doesn’t open his eyes much but he’s moving around more and more. There isn’t any brain damage or anything, all of his scans have come back clear.” Stiles spies the printed diaper bag he’s been searching for hanging on the closet knob in the hallway and grabs it triumphantly. “How many ounces did Leo take?”

 

“Barely two; he’s still not used to the bottle.”

 

John follows him down the stairs and into the kitchen. 

 

He feels a pang at that. Talk about omega guilt. Stiles empties out the bottle dispenser and starts to fill it with the dirty ones Leo used throughout the day.

 

“Mel also said you’re bringing Leo to the hospital. You think it’s a good idea? Derek is very disoriented.”

 

“I think it’ll help. Deaton does too.” Stiles replies. “Scent memory and all that.”

 

“But you’ve been there…” The hesitation in John’s voice is hard to miss. This time it has more to do with him not understanding how Supernaturals operate. “Derek didn’t pick up on your scent?”

 

It’s something Stiles is wondering about as well.

 

“I don’t know what’s going on, or if there’s damage or…” Stiles trails off not wanting to speculate. Deaton has been running tests. “The important thing is that he’s recovering.”

 

Before the silence can stretch out into uncomfortable, Stiles hears Leo crying. Saved by the Wail.

 

“Son.” Stubborn man that he is, John doesn’t give up and follows him. “There are some things you need to be prepared for. There may be--”

 

“Dad.” Stiles cuts him off. “C’mon, crying baby, duty calls.”

 

Leo’s face is turning red by the time Stiles get into the living room. He’s got his hands stretched up next to his ears, legs kicking. The poor kid inherited Derek’s temperament.  Stiles hushes him comfortingly, lifting him up out of the bassinet.

 

Leo always smells so sweet, like Derek but with his scent intertwined, talcum powder, fresh linen and sweetgrass…Stiles cuddles his son and inhales deep.  There’s nothing like it in the world.

 

“You awake so soon, tiger?” Stiles tells him softly, nosing at the top of his downy, inky black hair comfortingly. “Did we wake you?”

 

Leo’s cries have slowed down to soft hiccups, his bright hazel eyes focused on Stiles face as he speaks, following his voice.

 

“So grandpa says you’re not a fan of the bottle, huh?” Leo whimpers pitifully, little fists going up to thump against Stiles chest even as he turns to try and latch on through Stiles’ Spiderman tee shirt. “Okay, I’ll give you a fix, junkie.”

 

Ignoring his father’s exasperated expression, Stiles carries his baby upstairs and closes the door of his room. He lays down on the bed, placing Leo next to him as he moves to his side and raises his shirt up to his armpit in favor of just shucking the thing off.

 

“I know things have been upside down but hang in there, okay?” Touching his son’s velvet soft cheek, Stiles smiles when he latches on hard, wiping away the last of his tears from his round cheeks.  “Daddy’s awake now, and everything is going to go back to the way it was.”

 

Stiles remembers the first few weeks after he gave birth, how they’d lay like this together in bed: Stiles sleepily nursing their son and Derek watching them both, pride and love shining in his eyes.

 

Derek was so protective those first few days, providing for every single one of Stiles' needs. He’d made sure the house was stocked with food, ran baths for Stiles when he was too tired to keep awake, walked the halls with Leo when he wouldn’t sleep. They’d lived in a little bubble for nearly two weeks before his Alpha had been calm enough to let others around his family. And even then, he would hover.

 

Leo is more Derek than him, a werewolf where Stiles is werefox, and although Stiles complains about it, he really doesn’t mind. It was adorable to see Derek Hale so enraptured by a little scrap of fur. It’s not only the bond between Alpha and son, it’s _everything_. Seeing Derek’s eyes and features on a little pup with Stiles’ moles and ears, is as beautiful as it is humbling.

 

It forged a bond between the two of them that outshone even their mating and wedding which Stiles had never even thought possible.

 

After the car accident, Stiles has missed that the most, just _being_ with his mate and having his little family. He missed changing dirty diapers at three am while Derek blearily warmed up baby wipes. He missed the way Derek would hold him as he nursed their son. He missed waking up to Derek working in the early mornings, laptop open, glasses on and Leo sleeping against his shoulder.

 

“Everything is going to be okay.” Stiles promises their son.

 

Irrespective of the challenges Derek may face, he’s awake now and Stiles is going to have his family again.

 

**____________________**

 

For the first-time Derek feels in control since he woke up in this nightmare. He’s been going in and out, catching snippets of conversations or getting more of that flash light in his face courtesy of the sadistic Dr. Deaton. 

 

Derek thinks it’s been days, maybe a few weeks of this. His back is sore like he’s been laying there for a while and he remembers a nurse or someone coming by to change his position periodically.

 

Someone is singing in the room, on and off for the past fifteen minutes. It’s an old song, something he knows he’s heard before but can’t quite place.

 

Derek opens his eyes, wincing as they adjust to the natural light flooding in through the partially open blinds.  It takes a few minutes but everything comes into focus eventually. Erica is sitting in a chair next to his bed.  Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy ponytail, strands curling over her forehead as she flips through a gossip magazine.  She’s wearing a leather jacket and bright red lipstick, smacking gum loudly as she sings along to a song coming through speakers Derek can’t see.

 

It’s Erica, but it’s not.

 

She’s different.

 

The alarming thought comes into his head but when Derek tries to chase it--find out _why_ he thinks that-- pain lances through his skull like a sledge hammer.

 

“ _So many people have come and gone, their faces fade as the years go by_ \--”

 

“Wha.” Derek’s mouth is dry and tongue is clumsy around the word but he manages to get it out. Erica freezes mid song, her eyes flying to his. She doesn’t move from her seat.

 

“Water.” Derek says again, clearly this time, coughing as his throat closes on the tail end.

 

That gets through to her.

 

Erica jumps up to her feet, heels loud against the linoleum. The magazine falls on the ground but she ignores it, filling a glass with water from a pink pitcher.  Her hands are shaking.

 

She holds the cup to Derek’s lips and he manages to give her a weak glare at the assumption, but he knows he does need the help.

 

The first sip of water feels like heaven, cool and quenching in a satisfying way he can’t describe. Derek drinks greedily, slurping like a child, before Erica pulls the cup away.

 

Derek growls.

 

“Sorry, alpha! But you’d vomit or something--” Erica looks toward the door helplessly. “I’ve seen it in movies.” She starts to move but Derek grabs her hand and holds her in place with all the strength he can summon. Erica gasps. “Deaton! Scott!”

 

Deaton makes it into the room first, expression mirroring Erica’s as his eyes land on Derek’s hand around her wrist.

 

“You’re mobile.”

 

Derek stares at the man, refusing to let go even when Erica tugs back. It’s hit him then, what’s different, not just the faint scar on her chin or the darkened burnished gold of her hair. She’s different because pieces are _missing_. Erica is more than her appearance, she’s the scent of lemon and ginger beneath all that bullshit hairspray and perfume. That part of her is lost to him. He can’t smell her. He couldn’t _hear_ Deaton in the next room.

 

The anxiety within Derek spikes, he sits up, fighting nausea as he does and pulls out the I.V. in his forearm. “What’s wrong with me?”

 

“Derek, listen to me carefully.” Dr. Deaton walks toward him slowly, voice level like one would do when approaching a corned animal. “Let Erica go.”

 

Derek ignores him. “What the hell is going on here?”

 

Erica squeaks, tugs fruitlessly at her arm. “We should get Stiles--”

 

“Why would I _ever_ need Stilinski?” Derek snarls, but his grip is slipping. The new founded strength dwindling at an alarming pace. He’s a _Were_ ; he shouldn’t still be so weak. “I need Peter--”

 

“Peter?” Erica stops struggling. “But Peter is--”

 

“Erica.” Deaton interjects. He steps between them and disengages Derek’s hold. _He shouldn’t be able to do that_. “Derek, what year is it?”

 

Fear and panic make Derek snarl. “I’m not doing this with you.”

 

The doctor fixes him with an unwavering gaze. “Do you know who I am?”

 

“Alan Deaton.” That feeling of not quite right is snowballing, burying him. “Laura, then, get her.” Peter was always getting into some shit. Maybe he was in jail? Or something? Something. Either way Laura would know. She would be able to help and set everything right again. “Laura can--”

 

Erica makes a wounded sound, hand covering her mouth. She doesn’t look at Derek as she rushes out of the room.

 

“Derek.” Deaton draws his attention back to him. There’s something off about him, the pronounced wrinkles at his eyes, the thick rimmed glasses. He looks older; _old_.  “What year is it?”

 

Derek has a feeling that whatever his response is, it’ll be the wrong one. He’s seen too many movies that start with bullshit scenes identical to this one.

 

He also knows that he won’t be able to lie his way out of reality.

 

“What year do you think it is?”

 

Derek tells the truth because what other fucking option does he have? “2006.”

 

**____________________**

 

Stiles sets the car seat down unto the top of stroller, snapping it into place easily with an audible click. Seriously, whoever is the genius behind these baby gadgets, is awesome. It also is awesome that Derek had insisted on top of the line everything for Leo, spoiling the baby since he was just a grainy image on Deaton’s sonogram machine.

 

Leo graces him with a gummy, drool filled smile as Stiles tucks the wolf printed blue and white blanket around him; totally milk drunk. It’s getting cool as September melts into November. Stiles grins back at his son at the realization that Derek will be back at home by the time thanksgiving and Christmas roll around, he won’t miss any big holidays for Leo’s first year.

 

The last month without Derek had given Stiles a glimpse into what life would be like without his mate. No one to bitch about wet towels on the floor, or flecks of toothpaste on the bathroom mirror. No one to bring him banana nut chocolate chip pancakes in bed and give him back rubs and tingly scalp scratches. 

 

No one to talk to, really bare his soul with. No one who understands his fears, and the old hurts that still break his heart. Derek understands what it means to wake up in tears because you realize you can no longer remember your mother’s voice. He doesn’t judge or try and make Stiles feel better, he just lets him _feel_. A lot of people don’t understand how important that is.

 

Even the annoying things are exciting. Stiles is looking forward to Derek trying--and failing-- to get him up for a five am run. God help him, he’s even looking forward to the disgusting green protein smoothies Derek keeps trying to force down his throat with exclamations of ‘for vitamins! For baby!”

 

Erica is waiting in front of the rehabilitation center. She looks upset, pacing even in gazillion dollar stiletto heels. She’s smoking.

 

“What are you doing here?” Erica jumps off the porch when she sees him, smile too tight as she stubs out her cigarette. She fiddles with the zip on her jacket, stepping directly into his path. “Scott was supposed to call you.”

 

“Phone died, it’s charging in the car.” Stiles tries to move around her but she isn’t having it.  He frowns and goes left, she blocks him again. He goes right and so does she. “What are we doing? Square dancing? Get out of my way, blondie.”

 

“Uh, sorry.” Erica looks flustered, cheeks unnaturally red. “You can’t see him.”

 

Stiles snorts in disbelief. “Yeah, okay, good one.”

 

“I’m serious, Stiles. There’s… there’s something wrong with him.”

 

“What happened?” Stiles demands. Derek had been fine a couple of hours ago. “Is he--”

 

“I mean, he’s okay but he’s not _okay_. There’s something _wrong_.”

 

“You sound like a broken record. What the hell is happening? Erica, you’re scaring me.”

 

“Derek thinks it’s 2006.” Erica blurts out.  “He thinks that the Alpha Pack is still on our tail and the fire… He doesn’t remember it happened…he’s asking for Peter and Laura- and he doesn’t _remember_.” 

 

____________________

 

The longer Derek stares at his reflection, the harder it is to accept. He’s staring back, but it’s not him. Not the person he remembers. He’s old-- older-- a few strands of grey near his ears and fine lines at his eyes. Shit. He can’t be thirty-four. He can’t just not remember a decade of his life.

 

When Derek looks away, Deaton puts the mirror down on the night stand and looks at him expectantly.

 

“This isn’t real.”

 

Derek is trapped in a bad dream, or caught in some crazy witch’s spell or a djinn’s weave.  This can’t be reality.  

 

“Your husband will be here shortly.”

 

Derek wishes he could pass out. Again. Stilinski is _Stilinski_ , a werefox at that.  He and Derek barely tolerate one another and now people are claiming he’s mated to the guy?

 

Deaton’s expression remains solemn. “I can assure you I would never joke about your life.”

 

“I would never be mated-- married to him.” Derek tries to make it as clear as he possibly can. Let that sink in. “Why don’t you tell me what the hell is really going on here? Is this the work of a demon? A witch’s alternate reality I’ve been beamed into? A spell or some shit?”

 

“I’m telling you the truth.”

 

“And I’m telling you there is no way.”

 

Deaton points to Derek’s left hand. 

 

Derek looks down at the gold band. When he pulls it back, there’s a tan line; like he’s worn it for a long time.  He didn’t notice it before, but now it feels like it weighs a ton. It’s simple and plain; no fuss. Like something he would prefer. If he was getting married. Derek is going to be sick. Again.

 

The panic is rising. “I could be married to anyone.”

 

“Take it off, read the inscription.”

 

This isn’t real. Derek does what Deaton asks anyway because what the hell else is he supposed to do? He’s too weak to leave, still hasn’t figured out what broke him and what fucked world or reality he’s now a part of.

 

On the inside of the band, in fine script reads: D & S, grey or blue.

 

No one would know that, only Derek and…whoever this S was. He’s not ruling out that it’s someone else other than Stilinski yet because ...Stilinski is annoying and flamboyant and Derek can barely stand to be in the same room with the hyper active ball of sarcasm. He’s not someone Derek is attracted to; he’s not someone he would marry.

 

“Paige.” Because that’s who Derek remembers. “Where is she?”

 

“I think it would be best if Stiles were the one to answer your questions.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You’ve experienced significant trauma and you’re in shock. Besides that, he’s your next of kin.”

 

“You’re _both_ strangers; Stiles more than.” The headache joins the panic. “I’m asking you, as a fucking _patient_ to fulfill your fucking obligations as a healthcare professional and answer my questions.”

 

____________________

 

_You’re both strangers, Stiles more than._

 

Outside of the room, Stiles heart plummets into his stomach.  This whole amnesia shtick plays out much better in the movies. Derek sounds horrified at even the thought of him; of _them_ and their life. Stiles struggles to draw a breath chest contracting tightly as he tries to temper his frantic breaths.

 

In and out; in and out. He can’t have a panic attack; not here, not now.

 

“Stiles?” Erica fixes him with a worried glance.  “You’re shaking, are you alright?”

 

_He’s not fucking alright._

 

Stiles forces himself to calm down, counting breaths in his head.

 

He should be strong. Derek’s always been the one to hold it all together, now it’s his turn.

 

“I, uhm. I think it’d be better if you stayed with Leo in the waiting room. I don’t want to overwhelm him.”  Stiles considers the room where Derek and Deaton are locked in a staring contest. “I’ll go see Derek on my own.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“You said that Derek’s wolf is injured, right? The only reason I brought Leo was to see if his scent would trigger something; help bring his memory into focus.”

 

“It still could. Derek would never be able to forget his son. He’s so damn proud of the kid.”

 

Stiles remembers the disgust he heard in Derek’s voice when he spoke about Stiles being his husband. He tries not to be hurt by it, and reminds himself that Derek wasn’t very fond of him before they hooked up. Besides, beyond the shameful jerk off sessions to the arrogant asshole’s hot face and body, Stiles hadn’t liked him either. Much.

 

Faking confidence, Stiles steps into the room before Erica can talk him out of it. In his haste to get way from Erica, Stiles pulls the door shut with more force than he means to. It shuts with a loud bang.

 

Suddenly, Stiles has the complete attention of both occupants.

 

“Uh, hi.” Stiles waves weakly. “Hello.”

 

He doesn’t know what to do in this situation. The omega part of him, hell, every part of him if he’s honest, wants to run over, crawl into bed with Derek and kiss him in sheer gratitude that he’s awake and talking and _alive_. But Stiles has a sick feeling that if he tried to even stand near him, Derek would pile drive him into the ground on some WWE shit.

 

As it is, the alpha looks extremely tense, jaw tight and expression wary. “You.”

 

“Me.” Stiles responds and for some reason gives jazz hands, not really knowing what else to say. Not even a smile. He looks at Deaton for guidance. “I…I’m really happy you’re awake?”

 

Derek snorts, collapsing against the white pillows in disbelief. He looks up at the ceiling. “What the fuck is going on?”

 

Seeing Derek upset makes Stiles temporarily forget the reality of it all. He goes to Derek’s side, puts his hand over his husband’s. It’s natural for him to do but Derek reacts as if Stiles has poured hot oil on him.

 

Derek recoils, yanking his hand away and looking at him slack mouthed. “What the hell are you doing, Stilinski?”

 

“Der, I know things are a little confusing right now--”

 

“Der? _DER_?” Derek shouts in disbelief to no one. “You!” He points at Deaton. “Call Laura! Now! I’m through playing these games with you people.”

 

Hearing Laura’s name from Derek’s lips makes Stiles’ eyes sting.

 

Derek really doesn’t remember any of the last ten years. All the pain he lived through, the death. He’d have to live it again. It had been so difficult for Derek to cope. The grief had driven him into a darkness that nearly swallowed him whole.

 

“We can’t call Laura or Peter.” Stiles says softly, slowly. He hates that he must be the one to say it but Deaton is clearly not going to. “Just calm down, okay? In your condition, you --”

 

“Why?” Derek demands, there’s a waver in the word. Stiles thinks he must know, somewhere in his damaged mind, he must, because his voice is rising, the muscles in his arms bulging as he struggles out of bed. “Tell me why not?”

 

“Derek, _please_ , get back in--”

 

“No one is telling me the truth. You’re supposed to be my husband, right?” He spits out the word husband like it’s dirty. “Where are my uncle and sisters?  Where is my family? Why aren’t they here?”

 

Stiles looks to Deaton for help and double takes when he sees the doctor quickly prepping an injection, filling a syringe.  All Stiles can think is that he doesn’t want Derek hurt. He moves to stand in between Deaton and Derek, but Derek grabs him up by the collar of his shirt, all his weight behind the brutal grip.

 

“Tell me.” When Stiles remains silent, Derek shoves him.  “Tell me! Say it. I need you to say it.”

 

“They p-passed away, Derek. Peter and Laura are dead.”

 

The horror is immediate.

 

The pain eclipsing his expression seconds after as Derek howls in disbelief.

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you lie about something like that?” Derek is shaking him, hard enough that his teeth clack together, and Stiles is beginning to be afraid. “You’re lying!”

 

Stiles pushes at Derek’s broad chest but the other man doesn’t budge. A fox is no match for a wolf. His husband would never hurt him but this isn’t his husband. This is a Were crazy with grief.

 

“I’m sorry, Derek, I’m so sorry.” 

 

Stiles wishes he could make it better, still wants to. Stiles didn’t really know Derek when his house was burned down. The arrogant alpha had made life a living hell for Scott and treated everyone like they were beneath him just because the Hales were pure, blue blood Werewolves. The top of the tier.

 

The news of the arson spread fast around Beacon Hills. Laura had been found in her bed, her two pups- Jacob two and Lisa eight months- curled around her. They’d died of smoke inhalation. Her husband Brent, burned alive in the basement.  Peter and Cora had been pulled from the flames. Peter succumbed to his injures two weeks later in the hospital. Cora went through extensive rehab and moved out of town as soon as she was able.

 

Derek had been so alone back then, volatile and angry. He’d wanted revenge, and he and the remaining werewolves, a small group, even Scott, had banded together to eradicate the encroaching pack.

 

“They’re not dead.” Derek insists brokenly, grip slackening. His voice drops to a whisper. “Why would you say that?”

 

“It’s true.”

 

“Shut up! Shut your mouth!” Derek slams him against the wall and Stiles grunts in pain as the back of his head connects with the wall hard. “I’ll fucking --”

 

As quickly as it begins; it ends.

 

Derek crumples at Stiles’ feet, needles still protruding from his bicep.

 

“Hey! You didn’t have to knock him out!”

 

Deaton raises a brow. “He would’ve seriously hurt you.”

 

“He wouldn’t.”

 

“Something happened in that accident, Stiles. Derek doesn’t recognize anyone by scent. For a Were, scent is everything. They rely on it for more than just smell. It’s akin to a human being losing their sight.”

 

“I’m a stranger.”

 

“Derek’s emotions are out of control.” Deaton presses the call button at the side of the hospital bed. “That display you were subjected to, may be the tip of the iceberg. He’s disassociated with not only his memories, but his _self_. That makes him a dangerous alpha.”

 

Two orderlies enter. Deaton motions to Derek and they lift an unconscious Derek off the ground and set him down on the bed. Stiles flinches when they fasten the restraints on his wrists. They’re padded but reinforced with silver.

 

Derek’s lax, eyes closed, eyelashes dark smudges against his high cheekbones. His hair is hanging over his face. It’s been awhile since Stiles has cut it. He looks the way he does right before Stiles kisses him awake Saturday mornings.

 

_“Do you have any idea how cute you are?” Stiles kisses Derek insistently even as the man snores. “Wake up, sour wolf!”_

_Derek grins slowly against Stiles’ lips, stretching lightly into Stiles’ touch. “Morning, beautiful.”_

_“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles grumbles, he’s carrying twenty pounds of baby and he’s leaking slick like nobody’s business. “How do you manage to lie first thing in the morning?”_

_“Not lying.” Hazel eyes look at him amused. “You’re beautiful and I love you, kit.” Derek’s smile is soft. “How did I ever get so lucky?”_

 

Derek just slammed his head against a wall.

 

“Once he’s calmed down, we can discuss treatment options. In addition to physical therapy, it’d be beneficial to speak to a mental health professional. Derek is going to need help with these changes.”

 

“When can he come home?”

 

Deaton looks at him like he has four heads. “Home?”

 

“Yeah, you know the place Dorothy loves?” Stiles replies weakly. He runs a hand through his hair, wincing at the tender area in the back that’s already forming a bump. “Look, Rambo or not, he’s still my husband.”

 

“That’s a conversation best saved for another time.”

 

____________________

 

Stiles hasn’t been back since the day Derek threw him into a wall.

 

Derek can’t really blame the guy. Derek had completely lost control. The kid had clearly been terrified, just apologizing repeatedly.

 

Well, not kid.

 

Not anymore.

 

Deaton wasn’t bullshitting about it being 2017. Stiles isn’t the skinny, buzz cut beanpole Derek remembers tagging along side McCall. He’s filled out, lithe muscle making him lean and a head full of dark, curling hair. There’s a maturity about him that was missing before. It makes him seem grounded.

 

Remembering the look on his face when Derek shoved him makes Derek’s stomach twist into knots even now, days later.

 

After Deaton knocked him out, Derek woke abruptly in the middle of the night, wrists and feet restrained; the moonlight spread over the sheets, dappled beams covering every surface as his heart tore in his chest.

 

He heard Laura’s voice, as clear as the heart monitor: _Mom and Dad promised we’d never be alone. That every Werewolf can travel on moonlight, from this world to the next, if only for a second. That peace you feel when the moon‘s light hits you, Derek, that’s them. That’s us. It will always be._

 

And Derek had cried then, sobbed like a child, because he knew it was true.  That even though it felt like he’d argued with Laura over the last waffle that morning, she’d been dead for a decade. Not just Laura but Peter and all that was left of his family. 

 

The anger is gone now and with it comes numb acceptance.

 

And determination.

 

____________________

 

In the following days, Derek meekly follows Deaton’s instructions.  He doesn’t tell any of them of the paralyzing headaches that strike when he tries to reconnect with his Were. He just does his exercises and grits his teeth.

 

Erica comes by to see him a couple of times, Boyd with her. They seem to have been close to him but to Derek, he’s known them for less than a year, even though they’re not the teens he remembers. It’s a mind fuck to see Erica with her kid the first time, Boyd a proud father.

 

Scott has also imposed his presence on Derek, _every single day_. They don’t talk and Derek gets the distinct impression that he and Scott didn’t mend any fences during those years he can’t remember. Scott seems more like a dutiful soldier than friend to him. He spends much of his time on his cell phone when Derek’s in rehab, likely taking notes on his condition for Stiles.

 

Stiles doesn’t come back.

 

Derek’s not sure he would let him in even if he did.

 

He’s trying to remember, but the gaps remain even when he’s strong enough to try and fight through the pain. The doctors don’t know what’s causing the memory loss and Derek just wants it to end. There’s so much he’s missed and doesn’t understand. He’s afraid to ask much and no one really volunteers information.  Derek wonders what else he’s lost.

 

 

**____________________**

 

“No.”

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

“Not a chance.”

 

It takes everything in Stiles not to roll his eyes like an exasperated teenager. “I’m not a kid you can order around, Dad.”  Stiles shuts the suitcase pointedly. “It’s time to get back to normal.”

 

“You have a newborn, Stiles.”

 

“Leo is three months old, practically ready to drive.”

 

“This isn’t a laughing matter.”

 

“Derek is my husband.”

 

“Derek is _violent_.”

 

Stiles groans in exasperation, he regrets telling his father what happened but he’d been shaken and desperately needed someone to comfort him. Not the brightest idea to run to the man who hates Derek. “That was _one_ time--”

 

“Once is more than enough!”

 

“Dad--”

 

“He put his hands on you.”

 

“ _After_ I idiotically blurted out his whole family was dead! Besides, Scott says he’s been a model patient.”

 

The daily updates from his best friend have been the only thing that have kept Stiles sane. At the suggestion of Deaton, and then the psychiatrist, Stiles has stayed away, given Derek a period of adjustment. But now Derek’s been cleared to leave, and there’s no way Stiles is not going to be there for that.

 

“Doctor Morrell says a familiar environment and routine are what he needs. I can do that, but not from your house.”

 

Johns crosses his arms over his chest. “What are you going to do about Leo?”

 

“I’m going to tell Derek about him today, the therapist thinks we should do it after his session.”

 

“Do you think that’s wise?”

 

“Leo is his _son_.”

 

“It’s a lot to accept.”

 

Like Stiles is a bitter medicine and Leo is the vinegar chaser.

 

They’re not something Derek has to bear; they’re _his_.

 

“I have to try.” Stiles doesn’t want to admit how afraid he is. He’s terrified that Derek’s memories will never come back. “He’d do the same for me.”

 

**____________________**

“Is there anyone I love who isn’t dead?”

 

Derek didn’t want to talk to the shrink but everyone else gets big, Bambi eyes around him. She’s the only one who tells it to him straight. Dr. Braeden Morrell is proving to be an unlikely ally in a world he’s finding out he no longer understands.

 

“Cora is living in Seattle, has been for a few years.”

 

Derek’s feels relief like a punch to the gut.

 

“And Paige?”

 

“Yes, Paige.” Dr. Morrell looks at him owlishly. “You’re very adamant about knowing her whereabouts.”

 

“She’s my girlfriend.”

 

“She was your girlfriend.” Dr. Morrell corrects mildly. “And she presently lives in Beacon Hills.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Mr. Hale, you’re a married man.”

 

“I didn’t marry anyone.” Even as Derek says it, the words feel wrong but Derek is sick of feeling someone else’s guilt.  And it must be someone else’s.  “ _I_ am with Paige; the other Derek is the one who got married.”

 

“Who has come to visit you at the center?”

 

“You already know that Stiles has, that ended badly.” Derek shrugs, trying not to squirm like some kid in the principal’s office under her sharp gaze. “Besides him, Scott, Erica, Boyd and Mrs. McCall.”

 

“Not Paige?”

 

Ice settles in Derek’s stomach. “Not Paige.”

 

Point made, Dr. Morrell flips open her notepad. “Now, tell me how your memory exercises are progressing.”

 

Derek hasn’t done one. “What about Isaac?”

 

“Alive.”

 

“Then--”

 

“I’m told he was here with his husband when you were first admitted. They remained in town for a few weeks.”

 

Of all them, he remembers Isaac the most. The kid had been a real mess, vulnerable in a way that made you want to protect him. They’d formed a close bond after Derek gave him the bite. Derek understood what it felt like to be searching for a father.

 

“Isaac has a husband? Who?”

 

She sighs. “Jackson Whittimore.”

 

Derek snorts in disbelief. 

 

If there was anyone worse than Scott it was Jackson. The human was power hungry, arrogant and cunning. A dangerous combination. There was a restlessness that any supernatural being could immediately see in him. That trait made him susceptible, weak.

 

Isaac wouldn’t.

 

“Not fucking likely.”

 

“Your memory exercises--”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m doing them. Okay, here: yesterday - I had eggs and toast for breakfast even though I asked Simon for oatmeal.”

 

“What were you wearing?”

 

“A blue and yellow tee shirt; some tight, horrible, ugly thing Stiles--no excuse me, my husband-- dropped off for me. I went for a run. Deaton stopped me and made me walk. Doctor Clermont was a dick and bent me into a pretzel--”

 

“How did the exercise room smell?”

 

Derek looks at her bewildered. “The fuck?”

 

“How did it smell.”

 

“That’s…” Derek freezes, sweat making him flash hot and cold. This should have been the first impression. It’s always the first thing a Were catalogues. When he tries to tap into that part of himself, all he feels is pain; bone deep. It leaves him shaken. “I… I don’t know.”

 

“That’s alright, Derek. How about the tee shirt?”

 

“It had to have been Stiles’.”

 

“Why do you think that?”

 

“I’d never wear something like that. And…” Derek thinks back to all those years ago. “He did it before, gave me a too small stripe-y shirt. Called me Miguel.”

 

“How did that shirt smell then?”

 

“Like corn chips…” Honesty is the best policy.  “And cum.”

 

If she’s scandalized, Braeden doesn’t show it.

 

In fact, she looks entertained. “Really.”

 

“That was my first impression of him; cum and corn chips.” Derek can’t help it, his lips twitch in amusement as he thinks of that other kid’s--Danny, was his name?--face. “That’s how I know that me and him… I’m not sure how it got to be this… married shit. But. No.”

 

The guilt is back and it makes him angry.

 

“What’d the shirt smell like today?”

 

“Not like corn chips.”

 

“But like come?”

 

Derek laughs, he can’t help it.  “I think fabric softener; cotton; kind of nice.”

 

“That’s good, Derek.” The seems very pleased with his response and smiles at him. “Really good. I think this is a good place to end our session.”

 

The abrupt end sets Derek on edge. Today is the final time they’ll meet here. It’s do or die.  “That’s it? I’m going to be discharged tomorrow. You’re supposed to fucking fix me.”

 

“It’s a process, Derek. Trust it.” She gets to her feet, brushing lint off her beige pencil skirt as she walks to the door. “Besides, today is more of a group therapy day.”

 

Derek knows who’s going to be standing there before he can see Stiles’ face. The kid is sweaty, pale and nervous. Derek doesn’t need his Were to know that he’s probably anxious, his dark brown hair is messy, like he’s been worrying it all morning.

 

Dr. Morrell ushers Stiles into the room. “You’ve asked me a lot of questions, Mr. Hale, and I’ve answered what is appropriate. However, there’s one part of your life that you should face with Mr. Stilinski-Hale.”

 

A black and silver stroller.

 

Derek gets to his feet.

 

His heart begins to pound, and the white noise of adrenaline fills his ears.

 

He hadn’t even allowed himself to consider this.

 

There’s an infant nestled in the carriage, blue and yellow blanket wrapped around him as he suckles on a superman logo pacifier sleepily. The werecub is tiny, can’t be more than a few months. He has a head of dark, curly hair peeking out beneath his yellow cap and his wide eyes are unmistakably Hale, tipped with dark lashes like Laura’s.

 

“Uh, this is Leo.” Stiles says quietly, he’s looking hopefully at Derek like he expects something. “Our son.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

Derek hasn’t said a word, he’s still staring.

 

The therapy session had come to an anticlimactic end. Dr. Morrell leaving them to their own devices. Stiles is seriously questioning why he’s paying her to just saunter in and out of rooms like a model.  A bombshell like this, and she leaves.

 

Leo and Derek meeting for the first time, _for the second time_ , and Dr. Morell smiles and lets him know her part is over.

 

Stiles wishes he knew what to say.

 

Derek had wheeled the stroller back down to his room without a word. Stiles had followed unsure of what else to do.

 

It’s not like Derek doesn’t admit it, but the day Leo was born, a homebirth, in this incredible, heated tub Deaton delivered, Derek had cried. Stiles remembers the way he’d cradled the wet, birth-gross and gunk covered squalling infant to his chest and sobbed like a baby. The look on his face had been a mix of awe and disbelief. He’d been so full of _wonder_ he looked like a Disney cartoon. Big eyes and dopey smile, snotty tears and everything, Stiles had never loved him more.

 

Back then, Derek hadn’t been the silent wall he is now.

 

Honestly, Stiles is disappointed. He’d hoped that Derek would take one look at Leo and wham- BAM remember everything and love him again.  They’d go home and Derek would bitch at him for the striped shirt prank while making them a disgustingly healthy balanced dinner. This would just become a funny story to tell at dinner parties and Derek would be like, ‘And then I forgot he existed and bashed his head against the wall,’ and be like ‘Stiles, darling you tell the story, you tell it better.’ And Stiles would graciously decline and say ‘no, darling you always tell it better’ and—

 

“How is Leo not screaming his head off by now?” Erica questions.

 

“Gotta be scent or something.” Scott answers. “Mom says after my dad left I’d curl up under his shirts.”

 

“So that’s normal?” Stiles whispers to Scott, poking him in the side. They’re all crowded at the doorway, watching. Derek must know they’re there but he hasn’t acknowledged any of them. “Why isn’t he _saying_ anything?

 

Scott doesn’t take his eyes off Derek for a second. “How would I know?”

 

“Boyd stared at Isla for hours when she was born.” Erica volunteers. “And Isaac said that Jackson still watches Andy like a hawk.”

 

“I guess Derek was like that too, but this is different.”

 

“It’s getting late.” Scott straightens. “Let’s grab Leo and get you both home.”

 

Stiles shakes his head, eyes greedily drinking in the sight of Leo wrapping his tiny fingers around Derek’s thumb. “Dr. Morrell said we should let him bond.”

 

But because he’s a bossy baby--again, all Derek-- Leo makes his agreement with Scott known as he abruptly rouses from his semi slumber and wails. Stiles’ nipples tingle immediately. He knows that cry. It’s an  _I’m hungry_ and _pissed_ and _where are my boobs_ cry.

 

“I can get him.” Erica steps into the room, but Derek’s deep growl stops her in her tracks. Although his eyes aren’t glowing, it’s threatening enough that the beta wolf halts mid-step. A natural born Were, even a disconnected one is still akin to staring down the barrel of a gun. “Uhm…Stiles?” She yelps. “A little help here?”

 

Stiles edges past her, pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t get the same warning.

 

“I’ll just…” Stiles gestures vaguely to the door.  “Yeah.” He lifts Leo out of the carrier, intent on finding an empty room to breastfeed in but Derek stops him, finger catching in the loop of his jeans. “We’ll just be a sec.”

 

“Could you….” Derek looks up at him earnestly. It’s the first flash of emotion, of something other than bewilderment and anger, that Stiles has seen from him. “I don’t mind if you do it here.”

 

Stiles minds.

 

He minds very much, thank you. He wants to say there’s no way he’s whipping his nips out and nursing while Derek watches him, but he bites his tongue. This used to be okay.

 

“I’m, um, nursing.”

 

“I know. I noticed the lack of a bottle in the diaper bag.”

 

“Uh… I’m not really sure about ...”

 

“What’d you do before my accident? You say we’re married, right? Did you leave the room every time you had to feed the kid?”

 

“No.” Stiles blushes awkwardly. “You were there b-but--.”

 

“But nothing.” Derek scoots over on the bed, leaving some space for him to sit down. “Have at it.”

 

Stiles’ face feels like it’s on fire but Leo isn’t calming down. To put his poor kid out of his misery, Stiles reluctantly unbuttons his shirt.  He lets Leo latch on before searching for a blanket to drape over himself. Gotta have some modesty, right? But to his horror, the blanket is gone.

 

“Looking for this?” Derek is holding the pale yellow receiving blanket in hand triumphantly, eyes zeroed in on Stiles’ chest as Leo nurses. “You don’t need it.”

 

Stiles looks up at the ceiling. “I refuse to be embarrassed.”

 

“Tell that to your ears; they’re as red as tomatoes.” Derek continues to stare unashamedly and eventually Stiles can relax enough to lean back against the pillows. “How old is he?”

 

Leo’s eyes are open now, staring up at Stiles.  This is what makes the sore nipples and lack of sleep worth it. He doesn't care if he feels like a milk monster machine. In moments like these it feels like he’s the center of Leo’s universe. “Three months and change.”

 

“When was he born?”

 

“June 22, 2017.”

 

Derek traces the bottom of one little socked foot. “Was he planned? Or was he like…”

 

“Planned.” He knows what Derek’s getting at. Stiles adds, defensively. “We were trying for around six months before we got pregnant. We’d been married for six years before that.”

 

“Huh.” Derek says, like that’s all there is to it. “Are there…is he the only one?”

 

“Nope.” Stiles lies just to be an asshole. “Got six more at home.”

 

“Wait-- what?!” Derek goes green with alarm, eyes comically wide. He flails. “What?!”

 

“Kidding.” Stiles snickers. “Just Leo.”

 

“Horrible sense of humor.” Derek gives him a sideways glance. “There’s the Stiles I remember.”

 

Stiles isn’t sure he means that as a good thing but he smiles all the same.  This is the first proper conversation they’ve had since Derek woke up missing ten years.

 

Leo, on his way to being full, is feeling more active. He stretches his legs, hitting Stiles’ elbow and catching his finger. Stiles hums to him, smiling when Leo gazes up at him.

 

“I didn’t trap you, or whatever. So, don’t make any plans to get on the Maury show.”

 

Derek doesn’t respond.

 

“We… uh.” Stiles continues. “Being that we’re a mixed pair…”

 

“You’re a fox.”

 

“Yep.” Stiles affirms. “It takes planning. We didn’t think it’d happen for us, but it did and you were so happy when I missed my heat.”

 

“Leo is a werewolf.”

 

“Of course, you’d instantly notice that your stock dominated mine.”

 

Derek’s quiet for a moment and Stiles busies himself with smoothing down Leo’s hair, and rubbing beneath his neck, gentling in the same fashion he’d seen Derek do many times before. Leo sighs contentedly, little body wriggling before he begins to nurse vigorously.

 

Stiles winces.

 

“Does that hurt?’

 

Stiles looks up to find Derek glaring at him.

 

“Well, it’s not exactly a picnic.” Cuddling his son, Stiles grins. “But he’s worth it, although you should ask me again when his incisors come in.”

 

“How can you sustain a wolf? I mean, you’re less…” Derek gestures down his body. “You’re not enough.”

 

“Obviously I am.” Stiles snaps. He’s used to this kind of specist bullshit, but its jarring to hear it from his husband. No; not his husband, Derek. “I was enough to carry him, enough to deliver him, and I’m enough to nourish him.”

 

Derek’s brows raise. “Okay.”

 

“Yeah.” Stiles wishes he could stick his tongue out. “Yeah, okay.”

      

When Leo’s finished nursing, Stiles breaks the world record for fastest shirt buttoner and burps Leo by holding him against his shoulder and rubbing his back until the tiny body shudders in a loud belch.

 

Derek laughs and Stiles gives him a tinny smile, still annoyed, humming a lullaby to the placid baby.

 

“That song.” Derek is looking at him, that hostile look returning with the confusion. “How do you…? Where’d you hear that?”

 

“You sing it to him.”

 

Derek’s brows furrow. “I don’t remember.”

 

“I know.” Stiles says softly. “But you will.”

 

“What if I never do?”

 

“Then…” It’s hard not to give in to the whirl of fear and sadness but Stiles keeps his head above the water even as his eyes prick with tears. “Leo is still your son.”

 

“Can I hold him?”

 

Stiles nods, transferring Leo into the waiting hold of his father. Derek is so awkward with him, arms spread too far, holding him like he’s a bomb. This man is so unlike the Derek who held his son confidently.

 

Who held them both.

 

“Stiles?” Scott’s at the door. Their eyes meet and Stiles knows his emotions are stamped across his face for all to see. “It’s time to go; visitors’ hours ended thirty minutes ago.”

 

_______________________

 

In the end, when he’s discharged, Derek decides to go back to the house he shared with Stiles. Partly because he has nowhere else to go, but mostly because of Leo. He doesn’t want to live away from him.

 

Derek can’t believe he has a son.

 

Cora may be in Seattle but Derek’s out here on his own. The baby softens his grief, gives him _someone_. He’s little more than a blob that spits up and cries but he’s something to hold on to. More importantly, he doesn’t expect anything from Derek.

 

The car ride back to Stiles’ place is quiet. Derek doesn’t know what to say or how to even begin making sense of them. Stiles doesn’t offer any conversation either. He turns on music, and Derek finds himself tapping his fingers against the hand rest mid song at a stoplight.

 

Derek turns to find Stiles giving him a smug look.

 

“What?”

 

“I knew you had a thing for Florence.”

 

Derek turns the radio up.

 

After about ten more minutes, Sties pulls off the main road and unto the highway. Derek frowns; he’d assumed they lived in Beacon Hills. His worry is short lived however, when they turn off the next exit and enter on the edge of Beacon Hills and Helena, the next town over.

 

“You like the quiet.” Stiles explains, as they drive on a two-lane street, woods crowding on both sides. “Don’t like to be around too many people.”

 

The house Stiles finally pulls up to is in an upscale community complex; new by the looks of it. There are only two other houses in the development, and one is still under construction. It’s three stories, manicured lawn and wrap around porch. Derek can see that beyond the black iron fence in the back is a pool and outdoor area.

 

This mini mansion in conjunction with the black ranger rover Stiles is driving has Derek thinking. His family had been comfortable, but they were by no means this wealthy.  This neighborhood, with its tasteful landscaping and acres of privacy is for the very rich.

 

“Are we loaded?”

 

“Uhm…you more so than me.” Stiles replies, pulling into the driveway and hitting a button on a device for the garage door to open. He parks the car. “I’ll get Leo, you can uh…just look around.”

 

Derek gets out.  The garage is spacious, two other cars are inside. A black BMW and holy shit is that---

 

“That thing still runs?” Derek points at the ancient rusty blue jeep parked to the far right. “How the fuck is it still around?”

 

“Hey! Don’t bad mouth my baby. I take care of her.”

 

Derek chuckles, but it’s nice to see something familiar. He watches Stiles punch in an alarm code and follows him through a laundry room, up a short flight of stairs and into a huge kitchen complete with stone walls and stainless steel appliances.

 

“Am I a drug lord?”

 

“You own a bar.”

 

Huh, bar owner.

 

He tries it on for size. Derek can picture that.

 

“A bar that makes a shit ton of money?”

 

“ _Triskele_ does alright but…you inherited a lot from the life insurance. Peter left a trust fund. You made some good investments.”

 

All humor drains out of Derek. “Oh.”

 

“When we got pregnant you wanted to have a house with a backyard, the whole nine.” Stiles sets the baby carrier down on the countertop and un-straps Leo. “You took one look at this place and said it reminded you of home. I told you it was way too big, it wasn’t like I was octo-mom, but you just said we’d fill it with kids eventually.”

 

“I wanted more than one?”

 

“A soccer team.”

 

“No shit.”

 

“Don’t worry.” Stiles winks, grinning, and it changes his whole dorky face.  He looks vibrant. “I talked you down to five.”

 

He’s Stiles but not like Derek remembers. That were fox had been a fumbling kid, even shifted, constantly tripping and tumbling over his bushy tail. Derek remembers laughing at him during community runs, perched up high with the rest of the heavy breed wolves.  But now, there’s a self-assurance and temperance that makes him more … appealing.

 

Appealing?

 

Derek doesn’t want to touch that with a ten-foot pole.

 

Pushing his thoughts aside, Derek sits down on a bar stool in front of the marble kitchen island. Stiles settles Leo into a baby swing thing near the glass doors leading to a deck and then sets about fixing what must be lunch.

 

“Aw man, I should’ve asked.” Stiles looks up from chopping potatoes a few minutes later. “Do you feel like anything in particular for lunch?”

 

“What are you making?”

 

“The only meal I can: hash.”

 

Derek frowns. “Aren’t you supposed to know how to cook?”

 

“You’re actually the cook, alpha.”

 

Alpha.

 

Some primitive part of him thrills at the submission.

 

“How did this happen?”

 

“You mean marrying me?”

 

“No, the moon landing.”

 

“You don’t have to be a dick about everything.”

 

“I could say the same to you.”

 

Stiles resumes chopping.  “The Preserve.”

 

“What about it?”

 

“After…” Stiles hesitates, gesturing with the knife. “After the fire, you said you felt like you were going out of your mind. You’d get lost for hours, totally feral. That’s where we met. In the preserve.  Not like the way we met when your uncle bit Scott… but for real. I went to the woods one day, got drunk off my ass on a bottle of Jack--”

 

“You?”

 

“Yup.” Stiles turns on the frying pain, giving Derek his back. Derek can see the defensive gesture for what it is. “My Dad and I had an argument, he said some things…and I. I just lost it for a while.”

 

“What was the fight about?”

 

“Mom.”

 

Derek vaguely recalls Stiles’ mother death; she’d gone slowly.

 

Stiles clears his throat. “Anyway, you were there. We got to talking and just…didn’t stop still the sun came up.”

 

“I’m not a talker.”

 

“I talked enough for the both of us the first night.  You listened.”

 

Now that Derek can believe.

 

“I had some issues, with alcohol, dependency stuff. Typical rebellious teen bullshit, I guess… took nearly getting assaulted to make me realize how stupid I was being.”

 

“Assaulted?” Cold settles over Derek, something welling up protectively at the thought of someone hurting Stiles. He doesn’t understand it. “What happened?”

 

“Too much whiskey, lots of bad decisions and an asshole that wouldn’t take no for an answer. You nearly knocked his head of his shoulders outside of The Jungle. I was  lucky that you were there.” A fond smile. “Lurking.”

 

The Jungle is a well-known mating ground; mating in the _fuck_ variety not mate bite. For a price, supernatural creatures can indulge on laced alcohol and party drugs. It’s frequented by lesser Weres; coyotes, bate and foxes, occasionally some bears looking to slum it. But never wolves. It’s beneath them.

 

Derek wonders if Stiles made a habit of going there, if he made bad decisions in its seedy, pheromone soaked back rooms.

 

Derek’s lip curls in distaste. “What would I be doing at the Jungle?”

 

“Don’t know.” Stiles reaches for plates. The kitchen is smelling good now, the scent of onions, garlic and frying bacon filling the room. “But you were there. That was the night everything changed between us though. You… afterwards, in the morning, you said that you wanted to be with me.”

 

Derek doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing at all.

 

If Stiles can be believed, then he started all of this.

 

He grabs the plates Stiles sets out and sets them on the oak table in the adjacent dining area. After watching him fumble, Stiles points him to the drawer with the silverware and Derek finishes setting the table. On his way passes Leo and kneels to cup his dark head affectionately. He looks like pack, he’s his. Even though Derek can’t scent him, something inside of him must sense him.

 

The pup blows spit bubbles at him, seeming pleased to have his attention. Derek remains near the child while Stiles finishes up, not resuming conversation.

 

They’re halfway through Stiles’ hasty lunch before Derek asks the question that been burning on his mind.

 

“Do you know what happened with Paige?”

 

The moment he says her name Stiles looks like a wounded puppy and Derek regrets bringing her up even though he shouldn’t.

 

“How would I know?”

 

“I was with her ten years ago; that much I remember.”

 

Derek is an alpha werewolf, regarded as tier one in the supernatural kingdom. His girlfriend, although not a wolf, was a human from a well-connected and respected family who could easily accept his bite. Their love was steady, the kind that burned hot and bright. There had been no reason to go to disgusting mating raves like _The Jungle_ , they were better than that; had found better than that.

 

Stiles glowers, color high on his cheeks. He has freckles. “Well, you were _single_ when you crawled in my window and shoved your tongue down my throat.”

 

“I did _what now?_ ”

 

“That night, after the Jungle.”

 

“I don’t crawl through windows.”

 

Stiles dissolves into a fit of laughter and Leo makes a surprised gurgle at the noise, shaking his set of plastic keys in approval. “You so do! It’s your thing. You’re known for it. And when we were dating you would show up nearly every single night. _Lurking_.”

 

“I went after you?”

 

“Is that so hard to imagine?” Stiles gestures to his body, fork in hand. “Turns out you have a _huge_ thing for skinny nerdy foxes. And here’s another thing to blow your mind, you’re omega whipped.”

 

Derek arches a brow in disbelief. “By you?”

 

“By little ol’ me.” Stiles responds smugly. “Look around, we’ve got framed action figures in your fancy imported Italian furniture and every episode of Star Trek known to man.”

 

“That could be just yours.”

 

“Our kid’s name is Leo.”

 

“So?”

 

“Short for _Leonard_.”

 

This other Derek must’ve been smoking wolfbane because, “Like Leonard, _spock_ -Leonard?”

 

“Yup.” Stiles chuckles. “ _You_ signed off on _that_.” He mimes cracking an imaginary whip. “So yeah, Derek Hale, omega whipped.”

 

“You’re giving me a headache.” Derek leaves to Stiles’ loud laughter ringing behind him. “I’m going to look around.”

 

________________________

 

The more Derek sees, the worse his headache gets.

 

Nothing strikes him as familiar and no matter how hard he concentrates he doesn’t remember any of it. The shrink keeps telling him to take it one day at a time while they assess the damage but he hates feeling out of his depth.

 

Stiles is right about the house, barring a gym Derek finds downstairs and what seems to be a home office, everything looks like Stiles hand selected it.  The nerd memorabilia and bright clutter are tacky and clunky but Derek surprisingly doesn’t get the urge to smash the R2D2 he finds in the living room to pieces.

 

There are three bedrooms on the top floor in addition to a bathroom and two hall closets. Closest to the stairs is a medium sized room; plain, full sized bed made up in light green sheets and the walls bare except for two stock photos of sailboats. There’s nothing in the closet and the en suite bathroom has little decorative soaps on the ledge. Guest room then.

 

The next is the nursery. And fuck, Leo has a shit ton of stuff. Derek toes off his shoes because the carpet in there is a thick delicate mint, it’s outrageous. The walls have hand painted characters and trees. Derek traces the horns of the caricature and chuckles in recognition. _Where the Wild Things Are_.  It had been his favorite childhood story; his earliest memory is of his father reading it to him.

 

The dresser is crammed full of pictures. A framed print of a sonogram, a hospital photo. Stiles and him in matching yellow tee shirts, at least Derek looks appalled to be in the color but Stiles is beaming, pointing down to his huge belly with his hands. Derek frowns down at the photo, a flash of something makes him pause. Instinctively, he knows that is the day when they learned Leo was a Werewolf. He doesn’t remember anything or anyone about that day but he just _knows_. 

 

The phantom headache is suddenly real, a deep, pounding pain at the front of his skull.

 

Derek looks over the other photos searching for something, but nothing else comes. They’re mostly of him and Stiles. Always wrapped around one another, kissing or smiling with Leo between.

 

They look happy.

 

The Derek in the pictures is happy despite the fact his entire family burned alive.

 

Derek doesn’t understand how that’s possible.

 

Discomfited, Derek leaves the nursery and pushes the door opposite open to what is obviously the master bedroom.  Derek’s influence won here. The room is done in earth tones, gold, brown and tan.  A California king poster bed takes up much of the space, mounted on a raised platform with a brass headboard.  The left wall is floor to ceiling windows. The brown shades are partially drawn and when Derek pulls it back he has a brilliant view of the distant town lights through the trees. 

 

The right side of the bed must be Derek’s. His father’s watch is on the night stand next to a half-finished Jeffrey Deaver novel. Unlike the left nightstand, his is relatively uncluttered, two photos under the brass lamp. The first is just of Stiles, he’s seated at a table, chin propped up in one hand and slight smile playing at his lips. The way he’s looking at the camera, the soft vulnerability and affection… It’s intimate in a way that makes Derek feel like he’s intruding on something. He turns the photo face down.

 

The second photo is of Stiles holding a newborn Leo swaddled in a green blanket. Stiles hair is longer than it is now and matted to his head in dried sweat. He looks exhausted, red rimmed eyes scrunched up tight to contain the huge smile on his face.  Leo is covered in a white film, thin streaks of blood and his new skin wrinkled and off color. Stiles had just given birth.

 

It’s not off-putting or disgusting.

 

It should be.

 

But it makes Derek feel possessive and strangely enough proud.

 

Although, if this is his husband and child; it’s only natural. Derek’s disappointed that he doesn’t remember any of this but there’s an upside. This is the first time in weeks he feels like he’s _safe_.

 

Some part of him remembers this place.

 

Derek sits down on the bed, shucks off his shoes and lays back against the pillows. He can hear Stiles moving around down stairs. He’s on the phone with someone. Derek sighs, looks up and promptly gets insight into an entirely different part of their lives.

 

There’s a mirror on the ceiling above the bed.

 

_And the wild things roared their terrible roar_

 

_______________________

 

It’s not the worst thing Stiles has ever made, but it’s pretty much shit. He tried to make something special for dinner, especially once he found Derek fast asleep in their bed snoring endearingly, but the time had gotten away from him. His father had kept him on the phone for over an hour, huffing and puffing about what a bad idea this was and how Derek would murder him in his sleep.

 

After he’d escaped that conversation, Stiles had felt drained. He’d fed Leo and wandered upstairs on auto pilot, slipping into bed with Derek before he realized what he was doing. Thankfully, Derek had stayed asleep, and Stiles could sneak out and catch a nap in the guest room with the baby.

 

In the end, Stiles had enough time to throw together a macaroni and cheese casserole and salad. It’s nothing like the food he’s used to getting. He admits he’s been spoiled. Derek is super into youtube recipes and developing flavors and all that chef shit despite being an alpha male. The kitchen is his domain, no matter how untraditional that is for an alpha.  Stiles had been treated to wood smoked salmon; delicate crepes, coconut curry rice, roasted duck and butter chicken … Stiles’ mac and cheese out of the box, made in Derek’s kitchen, is blasphemy.

 

Dinner wasn’t as awkward as he expected. Derek ate with him for one. Twice in one day, what an improvement from being slammed into a wall. Stiles wasn’t even sure he’d do that.  They’d left things in the air after lunch. Derek didn’t speak much, and whenever Stiles tried to engage him in any conversation he’d look away, dark blush creeping up his neck.  Leo keeps it from feeling too strange, he’s awake and making all the odd baby noises that make him laugh.  Mid meal Derek takes Leo and Stiles watches his little pup nuzzle Derek’s neck and Derek scent mark him in return. Stiles is positive Derek doesn’t even realize he’s doing it but he’s rubbing his cheek against the top of Leo’s head.

 

Stiles melts.

 

Though he doesn’t help, just kind of lurks in the doorway, Derek watches Stiles get Leo ready for bed. As is becoming an embarrassing habit, he doesn’t leave when Stiles nurses him, but sits across from him and stares like a creeper.

 

After an awkward shuffle, Stiles takes the guestroom. He makes a show of saying that he wants to be near the nursery, but they both know he’s giving Derek an out.

 

Derek takes it and Stiles struggles not to feel rejected.

 

________________

 

Derek hasn’t woken up so refreshed and rested in a long time. He also wakes up to his own face staring back at him on the ceiling. Fuck.

 

The smell of coffee and bacon make his stomach growl.  Stiles must be awake. Derek showers, maneuvering by instinct to shave and get the necessary toiletries. He grabs a black Henley and grey sweat pants from the closet, purposefully ignoring the sharp divide of his preferred dark and neutral tones, leather and denim to Stiles’ rainbow coalition of graphic tees and flannel.

 

The little twerp had brought that stripe-y shirt to him in rehab as a joke.

 

“Morning.” Stiles greets him with a tired smile when he comes into the kitchen. It’s obvious he just woke up. His hair is smushed to one side and there are pillow lines creasing his unshaven cheek. He’s wearing baggy black sleeping pants and nothing else. Derek tries to ignore the fact that the pants are likely his. Leo’s sleeping in a sling across Stiles’ bare chest, chubby foot peeking out. “How’d you sleep?”

 

“Alright.” Derek opens the fridge; it’s surprisingly bare. “Uh.”

 

Stiles follows his gaze. “Sorry, I haven’t had time to go shopping, but there’s orange juice on the bottom shelf, think it’s still good. We can go to the supermarket today if you feel up to it.”

 

Derek pours the remainder of the juice into a glass and heads for the table. He stops on the way, watching the sunlight stream in through the glass doors. The deck is huge, like everything else in this place. On the far right, there’s a teak hammock, big enough to hold four, two wrought iron patio sets and four lounge chairs next to the edge of the pool.

 

The other Derek feels like he was over compensating for something.

 

A large grill is positioned under a wood canopy overlooking the pool. Derek can see an outdoor stove and fireplace as well.

 

“We grill a lot?”

 

“You like having your pack over. It’s a wolf thing I guess. So, we’re kind of the hang out house, everybody willing and ready to crash.”

 

Derek nods absently, picking at his sleeve to avoid looking at the dusky pink of Stiles’ nipple peeking out though the sling.  He’s had an abnormal fixation on the entire nursing aspect of this, but he’s blamed it on the primal satisfaction a Were feels watching his mate provide for their pup. Now, he’s not so sure.

 

Stiles is still talking, saying something now about his rehab appointment.

 

Derek clears his throat. “We should pick up steak today; hospital wouldn’t let me have red meat.”

 

“ _You_ want red meat?”

 

Before Stiles can say anything, the doorbell rings and Stiles swears.

 

“I _told_ them not to come.”

 

Them turns out to be the pack.

 

____________________

 

It’s not so bad with the pack in the house. It feels less empty.  It’s even better that they’ve come bearing lots of food. Stiles had been content to munch on some bacon before heading to the supermarket but now he has Danishes, bagels and muffins galore. Melissa even brings him a freshly made frittata and ham and cheese quiche. She also brings a huge cobb salad, Derek’s favorite, and presents it to him with a flourish. Derek looks taken aback, brow furrowing like he’s trying to figure something out but he thanks her all the same.

 

The groceries are also taken care of. Erica has Boyd unload bag after bag from their jeep, while Isla claps gleefully. The little girl points out everything they’ve brought excitedly.

Scott covers the other things. There are diapers for Leo, his laundry detergent (made especially for the sensitive noses of baby werewolves), his baby water and the gel teether he keeps meaning to buy. The barren fridge is now at capacity. For all of Stiles favored chicken nuggets, hot pockets, slow churned ice cream and bacon there is Derek’s lean meat, fruits and fresh vegetables.

 

Stiles feels so damn grateful for the pack. All the shit he couldn’t remember is now here. However, Derek’s thanks are stiff and leave the room in awkward silence. Stiles does his best to smooth it over but he can tell by Scott’s scowl that everyone else feels the tension as well.

 

“How’d last night go?” His father corners him near the deck door where he’d been watching a bewildered Derek be led by Isla to the pool. “Did you settle back in alright?”

 

“It went okay. Derek is…” Stiles turns away from watching his husband.  “He just needs time.”

 

“Nothing happened? He didn’t--”

 

“We talked.” Stiles sighs. “He wanted to know about how we met, our marriage, stuff like that. Normal stuff.”

 

John scoffs.

 

“Totally normal Dad.”

 

“I don’t trust him.”

 

“I’m no longer seventeen years old.”

 

“Didn’t stop him back then.”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “So what? Derek is seven years older than me. Stop trying to make him into the creepy old wolf pedophile who stole me away. Weres reach majority at 17 and I didn’t exactly have any virtue left to steal.”

 

“It’s never been about that.” At Stiles’ disbelieving look, John relents. “It may have _started_ out that way, but the man was constantly in trouble with the law! I picked him up on assault more times than I can count but each time he paid his way out of trouble. He’s _violent_. And maybe he did change, _maybe_ , but the way I understand it, Derek thinks he’s twenty- four. That means he’s that guy again.”

 

It’s not as if the same thoughts haven’t crossed Stiles’ mind but even volatile Derek hadn’t been a loose cannon. He’d been defensive, hot-headed but not dangerous.

 

“You came here to what? To drag me back home by my hair?”

 

“I’d like for you and Leo to come back to my place in the evenings. At least until Derek completes his therapy.”

 

Stiles grits his teeth. “He’d never hurt me.”

 

“He put bruises on you a month ago.”

 

“Extenuating circumstances!” Stiles snaps. “And I don’t appreciate you bringing that up at every opportunity.”

 

“You’re my son, and Leo is my grandbaby; I’m always going to protect you two.”

 

“What do you think they need protecting from exactly, John?”

 

Stiles freezes at Derek’s icy voice. Judging by the dark tone, he’s heard more than enough of their conversation.

 

John doesn’t flinch. “They’re strangers to you. Your words, not mine. Who’s to say you won’t lose your temper again? There isn’t a snowflake’s chance in hell I‘ll let you lay a hand on my son again.”

 

Derek’s broad shoulders tense, his hands curling into big fists at his side. Stiles’ stomach flips as he smells the anger rolling off him.

 

It’s a visible process. Derek struggling for control. Some of that rage Stiles had seen when he first woke up in the hospital is there, and his father’s right; it’s frightening.

 

“Get out of my house.” Derek finally says, voice low. “Now.”

 

The Sheriff doesn’t move. He’s a human, mated to a were fox or not, and he’s fully aware of how easily a werewolf can harm him yet he dismisses Derek in a glance. “I’ll leave when my son asks me to.”

 

Derek looks at Stiles.

 

Shit.

 

Stiles bites his lip, not wanting to make the situation worse. This has been a constant battle. His father and Derek, from the beginning, through the past decade, they’ve been at each other’s throats. Stiles is always caught in the middle, no matter what he says or does, one of them gets upset with him.

 

The silence stretches on.

 

“Hey!” Erica calls out as she walks in, striped towel wrapped around a squirming Isla. “I’m going to have to use your shower. Guess who ‘accidentally’ fell in the pool?” She stops, looking warily between the three of them. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Just fine.” Derek says before Stiles can say a word. He stalks over to the hall table, snatching up the spare car keys. “I’m leaving.”

 

_________________________

 

Derek curses when he trips over the edge of the stroller as he lets himself back into the house. He’d left in a fit of temper and drove for  hours before he realized he had no idea where he was going. Fucking town was like a maze now. It was a good thing cars had GPS now and he had been able to just hit the ‘home’ button to take him back.

 

It’s past eleven and judging by the lack of cars on the street, the uninvited guests are gone. The Sheriff’s patrol car is gone as well. Derek snarls at the thought of John Stilinski. He had the nerve to insinuate that Derek would hurt his child.

 

The man’s dislike for him was nothing new, that much was obvious.

 

Well, the feeling is mutual.

 

The lights are on in the living room. Derek hadn’t been expecting that. He walks further inside and finds Stiles asleep on the leather couch, curled up on his side with a brown patterned afghan over him.  He looks small under the blanket; vulnerable. A baby monitor is clutched in his hand. He’d waited up for him.

 

Derek debates just leaving him there but decides to shake him awake. His blood is still running hot; he wants a fight.

 

Stiles blinks, disoriented before he spots him.

 

“Derek.” He sits up quickly and rubs his eyes. “You’re back.”

 

“I live here, don’t I?” Derek purposefully ignores the dried tear tracks on the younger man’s face. “Go to bed.”

 

“I,” Stiles grabs his hand as he moves past. “I’m sorry about what happened with Dad. He didn’t mean anything by it. He’s just trying--”

 

“To protect you.” Derek finishes shortly, shaking off his grip. “From me.”

 

“You two just…you don’t get along. Never really have.  We’ve spoken about this before and you… I mean, you said you understand that he’s that way because of what happened with my mother--”

 

“Listen, I don’t know about this other Derek, but I’m no one’s bitch. Not in my house.” Derek spits.  “I’m not going to roll over just because I’m fucking his son. Excuse me, was.”

 

The words are ugly.

 

It feels like kicking a puppy. Stiles doesn’t even try to hide what he’s feeling, it’s all there out in the open, in the sheen of tears covering his amber eyes. Something inside of him rebels at the display.

 

“You don’t have to be an asshole.”

 

Derek’s already walking up the stairs. “Make sure your father realizes that.”

 

________________________

 

Stiles doesn’t sleep that night. He takes Leo out of his crib, curls around his pup and takes comfort in his scent and contented snuffles as the dark melts to dawn. He looks down at the wedding band on his finger and replays every promise Derek has ever made; every word, every I love you he took for granted.

 

When he closes his eyes, he dreams about their mating ceremony, private and secluded, the heat of Derek’s breath over his bare thigh before he bit down. The pain and pleasure that course through him, the soothing caress of Derek’s calloused hands on his skin.

 

_“The bond of alpha and omega.” Derek whispers softly, fingers pressing against the raw bite. “Will never be broken.” He leans back on his haunches, dragging Stiles on top of him, his hands stroking up his bare thighs. “Look at me.”_

_Stiles does, afraid of the intensity in his mate’s gaze. Afraid of how much this means to him. “Derek.” He breathes, steadying himself with a hand on Derek’s chest._

_Derek’s fingers curl over his, where they lay over his rapidly beating heart. “This is forever.”_

_Beneath the command, hidden under the alpha’s voice, is insecurity. It strikes Stiles then, he’s not the only one afraid._

_“This is forever.” Stiles repeats, watching the smile spread across Derek’s face. “I love you, alpha.”_

_Held as he is, Stiles is completely vulnerable to Derek’s seeking hands. Their mouths are a breath apart. Stiles leans in the final few inches and kisses Derek softly at first, but then with urgency._

 

_Derek slows the kiss down, chuckling when Stiles immediately tried to follow him. “Hold on, Kit.”_

_And suddenly, cold metal is being slipped over his fingers. The band is simple, plain gold. It’s too big and Stiles curls his fingers to hold on to it._

_Derek’s eyes are glowing, bright in the closing darkness. “I know that the human custom means something to you.” Derek responds to the unasked question. “So, it means something to me.”_

_Stiles gives a watery laugh. He knows that Weres live by the bite, that the mating trumps all else. But his father is a human, and he’d been raised to recognize the sanctity of their marriages. “You’d do that…?”_

_“I’d do anything for you.” Derek tugs him close. “One of these days, you’re going to stop being surprised by that.”_

 

Stiles wakes up that morning with itchy tear tracks on his face and drool all over his pillow. Great start to the morning.

 

There’s nothing Stiles can do except pretend, so he does. He gets out of bed after delaying with cartoons and nursing and does exactly what he would’ve done had Derek not lost his memory. He chops up an obscene amount of kale, along with spinach, celery, banana and ginger before adding a teaspoon of wheatgrass to the concoction. He’s just pouring the smoothie into a cup when Derek ambles down the stairs. If he’s sorry about last night, he doesn’t give any indication.

 

Stiles hands Derek the dark green shake and Derek blinks down at him, taken aback. But he takes it and Stiles is pleased to note that after a few tentative sips, he drinks the entire thing.

 

Stiles fries up an obscene amount of bacon and eggs before drenching the entire thing in maple syrup. He eats it in a short amount of time straight out of the frying pan, Derek watching him in a mixture of awe and horror.

 

At least it’s not the cold anger.

 

Derek does the breakfast dishes.

 

________________________

 

They’ve fallen into a new version of normal. Stiles determinedly forges on, tells himself that whenever Derek says or does mean things it’s because he’s afraid. He knows that.  Derek had admitted as much to him before, one night in the Preserve, that he lashed out on those closest to him to protect himself. So now it’s Stiles’ turn.

 

It’s been nearly a month of Derek being back at home, and no memories have come back. Nada, zilch, nothing. Stiles can’t hide his disappointment. He drives Derek to Rehab three times a week and to Dr. Morrell twice a week. Derek eventually insists on driving himself.

 

Stiles takes a quick shower before getting dressed. He’s still carrying some extra weight from his pregnancy so he’s limited in his options. Black slacks and a dress shirt are as good as anything.  Stiles doesn’t bother trying to style his hair. The bed head thing is in anyway according to his mouthy students.

 

When he emerges from the bathroom, he smells eggs frying. His stomach grumbles in appreciation and Stiles heads to the kitchen. There’s maple syrup already set out on the counter.

 

Derek’s bent down in front of the sliding door, perfect ass in the air as he struggles with their son. Stiles groans, tries not to make grabby hands.  He would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the firm, warmth of those muscles under his hands, pressed against his skin; dominating him in the most delicious ways. Stiles runs his eyes hungrily over what he’s been so cruelly denied. It’s impossible not to look at Derek and want.  It’s been so fucking long. He feels like a nun.

 

Stiles wonders how Derek would react if he pinched his butt.

 

Slam his head into the wall, part two most likely.

 

“You doing karate there, tiger?” Derek says, gently holding down Leo’s legs so he can strap him into the Winnie the pooh swing.  He looks over his shoulder at Stiles. “Kid is hyper today.”

 

Stiles stares, mouth agape.

 

“What?”

 

“You called him Tiger.”

 

Derek stares right back at him as if he doesn’t get why it’s such a huge, monumental thing that deserves to be celebrated and yelled through the crowded streets.

 

“Did I?”

 

“ _Why_ did you?”

 

“Don’t know.” Derek pours himself a cup of coffee. “What’s the big deal? I won’t call him that anymore if it bugs you so much.”

 

“No, call him that, _keep doing it_. It’s just.” Stiles drops his eyes to the table, the disappointment overwhelming. “You used to call Leo that before…ever since he was in my stomach. He’d kick all night, keep both of us awake and you’d kiss my belly and say ‘easy there, tiger.’ And I said that it made no sense cause he’d probably be a wolf or a fox, neither of us are tigers. But then you’d laugh and say I was overthinking it and--”

 

“Stiles.” The line of Derek’s mouth is tight. “It’s a common pet name.”

 

“You said that then too.”

 

“So?”

 

“Nothing.” Stiles shoves eggs into his mouth to occupy himself. “Scott is coming over in an hour, he’s going to work on the yard.”

 

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

 

“He’s here to help.” Stiles repeats but they both know Derek’s right. “Just in case you don’t feel well or get another migraine.”

 

Derek continues to glares at him.

 

Stiles grabs his suitcase, kisses Leo and on habit leans forward to kiss Derek goodbye before he can think. Derek lurches backwards, smacking into the wall and Stiles blushes furiously. He’s an idiot. Before he can die of embarrassment, he rattles off where the emergency numbers are and lets Derek know his cell came back from the phone company.

 

_________________________

Even as times passes, the conversations with his supposed friends are stilted and awkward, too many people want to tell Derek about who he was and no one seems to want to find out who he is. It makes him angry, to constantly feel unwanted.

 

One thing that has gotten easier in the past month is being Dad. Derek may not remember having a child but something in him is drawn to the pup, knows him as his. Right now, Leo is asleep, curled up on Derek’s chest. Derek’s practically purring he’s so content, scenting the pup. _His_ pup.

The cell phone provider switched his number to the new phone. Allegedly, the SIM card was salvaged so Derek’s contacts and a lot of his messages were transferred as well.  Derek’s not sure what any of it means but Stiles had seemed excited when he handed it to him.

 

While Leo takes a nap, Derek grabs a beer and decides to learn more about this life he seemed to have built.

 

It’s difficult to navigate at first, the touch screen and these things called ‘apps’ that mostly turn out to be mindless games and word puzzles. His search history hasn’t been transferred but his favorites are still there. There are five of them. CNN, he gets that. ESPN, awesome. Something called ‘yelp’ that when Derek presses on brings him to a website that’s filled with reviews and ratings. That’s kind of handy, makes sense.

His cell phone has been unlocked, courtesy of Verizon. His text messages are mundane. They’re all about work or baby stuff. Boring enough to make his eyes burn. Derek can’t find Stiles’ name at first. Then he realizes it’s because he’s saved under a different name. Kit. Derek has no idea why he’s saved him as that or what it means. he assumes it must be a nickname and files the question away to ask Stiles when he returns from work.

 

Derek frowns down at the screen as he reads the most recent conversation.

 

Kit: Day from hell.

 

Derek: Everything okay?

 

Kit: Fine, just get home early please? I need hubby hugs.

 

Derek: Babe, I have a meeting. I’ll come straight home after.

 

Derek: You need anything?

 

Kit: Hubby hugs… :(

 

Derek:  Coming right up

 

Kit:  Pizza?

 

Kit: Extra cheese and Italian sausage

 

Kit: And the cream stuff for my sore nipples. Have fun with that awkward exchange at CVS.

 

Kit: :D

 

Derek:  No problem.

 

It’s so damn domestic, it’s nauseating. Derek scrolls further up, reading through conversations on diapers, some development on Murphy Lane, Leo, the pack, and movies. They talk about food a lot; like an abnormal amount and it makes Derek chuckle. There are also pictures. Stiles seems to have a thing for sending random selfies of him brushing his teeth, or pursing his lips. There’s a ton of Leo, even tinier than he is right now, dressed in various baby outfits, sleeping, laying on Stiles’ chest, in the arms of various pack members.

 

Derek stops on an older conversation.

 

Kit: Your kid is kicking and punching my bladder

 

Derek:  I can’t even find it in myself to be sorry.

 

Kit :  Well, your spawn wants ice cream, cookies and cream with cheese cake squares and chocolate sauce and gummy worms. He says he won’t stop until you deliver the goods.

 

Derek reads through dozens of their texts, getting a feel for who he was, what they were. Stiles is funny. Derek will give him that. He’s smart, quick witted, entertaining and some of their conversations make Derek laugh out loud even now.

 

But some of their texts aren’t fun and games. the oldest conversation and last that has been saved is from nearly six month ago.

 

Kit: Answer your phone

 

Kit:  Please

 

Kit: You’re being fucking childish

 

Kit: Can you at least let me know you’re ok?

 

Derek: I’m fine.

 

Kit: Are you coming home? Dad left.

 

Kit:  I don’t want to sleep without you. We don’t.

 

Derek:  Can’t. In Hackettstown

 

Kit: I’m sorry

 

Derek:  Stop being sorry and stand up for yourself. For me.

 

 _John_.

 

Derek reads on and can piece together the facts.  The Sheriff’s has never been shy in saying what he thinks. It's true that John married a fox but Derek remembers the rumors. John’s relationship with Caroline had quickly spiraled into something sour.  No one had been surprised. Were-creatures mate on a different plane then humans, their bond is more than words and a piece of paper from the government; it’s a deep, abiding connection of emotion and spirit. John could never understand that, no human ever could.  And Stiles’ mother, when she grew to crave it, could never have that with him. So she took up with a fox, some traveling salesman the way the rumor mill tells it and left John to raise their child alone.

 

Maybe the other Derek couldn’t see it, but he does. The reason why John dislikes him so much. John thinks the same thing will happen to Stiles. That Derek, as a werewolf, could never truly be content with a fox.  Honestly, he doesn’t blame him. Derek had thought much the same, it had been the reason why he wanted Paige to accept the bite. 

 

Maybe still does.

 

_________________________

 

Derek calls a cab to bring him into town.

Triskele turns out to be halfway decent. It’s more of a lounge than a bar, with a huge bar and open space for a dance floor. The booths lining the walls are expensive, butter soft leather that screams imported.

 

“Boss.”  The guy behind the counter calls out to him when he walks in. “Thought you’d be out a few more days.”

 

Derek looks at him, but he doesn’t recognize the light brown hair and green eyes.

 

“Oh shit!” The stranger says, wiping his wet hands on a rag. “Yeah, I forgot. Stiles told me you’re all scrambled up there.”  He holds out his hand, “Liam.”

 

Derek doesn’t take it. “Right.”

 

Liam doesn’t take offense. “Same old going around here. Boyd’s out back with the vodka distributor, if you’re looking for him.”

 

Derek heads to the back, walking through a door marked “Employees Only.”

 

He finds Boyd at the back door, talking to a few guys intently. There’s a loading dock and boxes are piled at the front of it. The labels are popular Were brand liquors, high end. Boyd catches his scent because he waves him over.

 

Derek spends the next thirty minutes scrambling to understand exactly what the bar needs in terms of supply and how they get it. Boyd is sharp, takes no bull and flatly tells one man he’ll take his business elsewhere if they try and fuck them on state minimum tax.

 

When it’s over Boyd waves them on their way and Derek is no closer to understanding anything about this business. His business. He tries to help all the same, with the unloading and inventory shit. The staff seem pleased to have him back no matter how many mistakes Boyd corrects.

_________________________

 

“I don’t know man, it’s just weird.”

“You married the guy.” Boyd says as he cracks open a beer for Derek. They're open for business, night life anyway, in about an hour. It‘s nearing ten and the day crew hangs around drinking as the night staff shuffles in. “You’re telling me that there’s nothing you find attractive about him?”

 

An image flashes in Derek’s head. Stiles coming out of the bathroom with Leo after his bath. He’d only been wearing black briefs. They were low on his hips and Derek could see the indent of dimples just above his surprisingly plump looking ass.

 

Derek gulps down his beer in one go. “Not my type.”

 

Boyd looks unconvinced. “I’ve had the unfortunate experience of crashing at your place, this was back when you were at the apartment, by the way. You were shameless, I swear I heard you howl more times in that one night than--

 

“Thanks for that.” Derek glowers. He can’t remember any of it.

 

Boyd shrugs. “Just saying, there definitely was heat there.”

 

“Did I uh… did I ever talk to you about our sex life?”

 

“You? Fort Knox? Not really.” Boyd returns to unloading the bottles of beer.” But you always strutted around like the cock of the fucking walk, made sure everyone knew who your mate was and who he belonged to.”

 

“Really…”

 

“Hickeys everywhere.”

 

Derek groans. “I wouldn’t.”

 

“You did, and often. But, Stiles likes all your caveman shit. Between you and me I think it’s reassurance.”

 

“For what?”

 

Boyd shrugs, “He’s not a werewolf, not everyone thinks an alpha should mate outside of his species.”

 

“ _I_ don’t think an alpha should mate outside of his species.” Derek admits. It’s been bothering him. “That’s why this mate thing is difficult to understand.”

 

“Again, Fort Knox man. You’re not the most open about your relationship; I don’t know what changed or when. Maybe you just thought the guy was hot?” Boyd shrugs. “All I know is that you were happy.”

 

Apparently, it took bonding over their shared grief and some really good conversation to make Derek throw out all he believed in.

“We talkin’ hotties?” Liam plops down next to them suddenly. He’s changed from the flannel shirt into a tight black v-neck, the logo of the bar is emblazoned on the neck line in silver. He’s apparently covering for another Were named Emily. “Who?”

 

“Stiles.”

 

“Don’t get me started on those lips of his.” Liam’s grin spreads further, he looks like the Cheshire cat. “Plus, he’s got an amazing ass.”

Every cell in Derek’s body flashes hot with anger, he tamps down on it.  The look he gives Liam is lethal. “Excuse me?”

 

“Don’t worry we never actually fucked.” Liam winks. “but I was the one who got away.”

 

“You went out with Stiles?”

 

“Two dates.” Boyd quickly fills in. “In high school.”

 

Derek bristles. “And I _let_ you work here?”

 

“Stiles asked for a favor, we’re nothing but friends.” Liam raises his hands in front of him in mock surrender. “Scout’s honor.”

 

“You know he’s not a threat to you.” Boyd elaborates. “That’s why you took pity on this asshole.”

 

Derek glares at him, but doesn’t respond. “I’m going home.”

 

“Isn’t Stiles staying with his father tonight?”

 

John’s birthday.

 

Derek had politely declined.

 

“No plans then, right?” Boyd’s grin gets wider, and he digs a black tee shirt out form a stack of boxes. “Suit up, Boss and get behind the bar.”

 

_________________________

 

 

It’s Wednesday when he sees her.

 

Derek can’t believe he lost sight of her to begin with.

 

Paige. 

 

Derek stands outside of the café window for several moments, pretending that he’s in another time. That this is 2006 and she’s waiting for him, ready to chastise him for being late. The café is dimly lit, a trendy spot that Derek doesn’t recall having been on Townsend Street. Paige is seated at a table in the corner, bent over a book, hair a dark cloud over her shoulders and a barely there smile sweet on her lips as she reads.  

 

She’s wearing a floral printed blouse and Derek inhales sharply, trying to scent something, anything. But of course, his broken wolf doesn’t respond. It doesn’t matter. Derek’s walking over to her before he can think it through. His pulse picks up and his palms go sweaty. He wipes them on his jeans before stopping in front of her table.

 

“Hey.”

 

Paige looks up casually, then does a double take, eyes widening a fraction in surprise. “Derek!”

 

“Could I?” Derek motions to the empty seat across from her. “You mind?”

 

“No.” Paige replies, she closes her book. “Wow, you look... How’re you feeling?”

 

“You heard about the accident?”

 

“Impossible not to. It was all over the news. Your car looked like a pretzel.”

 

There are crumbs from her vanilla scone on the table, Derek looks down at that. “But you didn’t come see me.”

 

“Well, no.” Paige brow furrows at the question. She sounds confused.  “Not really my place.”

 

“We’re not even friends?”

 

“Derek,” Paige says carefully. “What exactly is going on?”

 

“I don’t remember the last decade. In my mind, in my world, it was 2006 yesterday.”

 

Paige laughs, head thrown back and Derek follows the slim line of her pale throat. His head feels blissfully clear, the pain he'd been living with receding.  “Yeah, sure; pull my other one.”

 

“I’m not kidding.”

 

Her laughter fades quickly, eyes wide. “You mean…then.” She points at him and then herself. “You think…?”

 

“I know we’re not together.” Derek replies firmly, embarrassed. “But the last thing I remember is dropping you off at your Dad’s farm. We parked in the driveway and I didn’t want you to get out of the car.”

 

Her face softens into something that resembles pity and affection. “Oh, Der.”

 

The understanding in her voice means so much to him. There’s someone who understands and isn’t pushing him to be someone he can‘t remember.

“Feel like I’m in the twilight zone.”

 

“I could imagine.” She picks up her coffee cup and takes a long sip, eyes watching him over the white rim. “How does Stiles feels about this? What are you two doing?”

 

Instead of answering her question, Derek asks what he wants to know. It’s been plaguing him for weeks. He remembers them so clearly, what is was like to be so lost in her scent, the perfume and earthy vanilla that clung to her.  He loved that; loves her.

 

“Why aren’t we together? Why aren’t we even friends?” It’s hard to say out loud. “Why didn’t you come to see me when I was in the hospital?”

 

“Derek…” She places the cup down carefully in it’s saucer. “Ten years ago? You nearly killed me. This is the first time I’ve spoken to you since then.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update, likely Saturday


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

 

Speechless, Derek stares at Paige astonished, waiting for her to explain away her bad joke, but she’s serious. He can see it in her face that it’s the truth.

 

“I wouldn’t hurt you.”

 

“Maybe not intentionally.” Paige’s eyes drop to the table, and her shoulders lift in a delicate shrug. “After the fire, you wanted to move on; move forward. I don’t know if you remember, but we used to talk about getting married, having kids and the white fence.”

 

Derek thinks of the black gate of his annoyingly big house. “I do.”

 

She smiles faintly, but it’s a mockery. “Well, things didn’t go quite to plan.”

 

“Did I…” Derek can’t think of anything that could have caused her to nearly die. Did he go feral at the taste of her blood changing? Did his wolf attack her? That makes no sense, his every instinct would be to protect his mate, not harm her. “I don’t understand.”

 

“It didn’t take; the bite. Dr. Deaton said that there must’ve been something Supernatural in my lineage, something contrary to your werewolf, because…” She swallows hard, fingers crumbling the remainder of her scone viciously.  “The moment your teeth broke the skin, I started convulsing. I was in the hospital for two weeks, in an induced coma for one.”

 

“There’s no way I could’ve known, Paige. And if I did, I’d never—”

 

“You’d never what? Never take the risk?”

 

Derek nods, trying to erase that look of pain and anger.

 

It doesn’t work.

 

“I don’t believe you.” Paige stands, reaching for her purse. She begins shoving her scattered books into the leather bag, agitation evident. “Being with a werewolf, having your mate be descended of a pure breed, was more important to you than anything else. Than me. I guess, after all these years I can accept that.”

 

“You’re saying I abandoned you the moment it didn’t take?”

 

“Didn’t have to. I could see it in your eyes, the moment I woke. The doctors told you I would never be able to be turned.  You wouldn’t leave me, no, you were too noble to be the bad guy. But I wasn’t enough for you, not anymore. So you let us just die…it would’ve been better to just end it. I think the worst part was the not knowing; the waiting.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“I don’t need you to apologize Derek, I don’t need you to be sorry, not anymore.” She walks past him, then stops, a few feet off. “I’m glad you’re okay, really I am but…”

 

This is going to be her goodbye, Derek can feel it and he can’t let her say the words. He moves to block her exit. She’s taken aback, and when her eyes lift to his, Derek can see they’re wet.

 

“If I made you feel like that, ten years ago, if I made you doubt yourself, believe me, I’m sorry. I don’t remember the last decade, but this is me now; then. This is me ten years ago, Paige, right in front of you, and I’m _sorry_.”

 

Derek’s head is spinning and by the end of his speech, he’s got the attention of more than one patron in the shop. An older woman at the counter is staring unabashedly at him, bagel halfway to her mouth.

 

Paige stares back at him, mouth parted and breaths coming quickly. They stand there, gazing at one another. Derek thinks he reached her, that he can see something in her expression bend, but just as quickly as it appears, it leaves. She’s gone, shouldering past to leave him alone.

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

 

“When you Daddy gets home, he’s going to change your next twenty diapers.” Stiles gingerly tosses the dirty diaper into the trash can, tying off the end. “I don’t know how someone so little can produce something that smells so bad.”

 

Leo kicks his legs happily, playing with a baby wipe, not caring that he projectile pooped all over his Stiles.

 

“You ate enchiladas for lunch.” Scott says to him, safely from the doorway. “It’s transferable.”

 

“I’d like to see the science behind that.” Stiles tosses his shirt into the trash for good measure. There’s no way he’s going to scrape baby shit off it and put it in the washing machine. “Okay, stinky, let’s get you to Uncle Scott while I take a shower.”

 

When Stiles emerges, fresh and clean, he finds Scott in the bedroom next to the boxes Stiles compiled for Derek. Stiles filled them with pictures, videos, books and other sentimental things. Dr. Morrell thought it’d be a good idea for Derek to refamiliarize himself. She also didn’t rule out the possibility that seeing memories, as opposed to being told about them, would jog Derek’s memory.

 

Scott kicks the largest box with his foot. “They’re not open.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

 

Leo who had been perfectly content on Scott’s hip starts to fuss the moment he catches sight and scent of Stiles, straining towards him with little noises.

 

“Ok, kid,” Stiles lifts him up, smacking a kiss against his cheek. “Sorry I called you stinky.”

 

“He didn’t bother to look in any of them?”

 

“It’s difficult—”

 

“I really think you’re cutting Derek way too much slack.”

 

Stiles bristles. “Well, if you have a better idea I’m all ears.”

 

“I don’t.” Scott admits, some of his bravado leaving. “It’s just, you still look so miserable _all the time_. Derek’s awake and you’re still miserable.”

 

“No one could’ve counted on him having amnesia.”

 

“And _that_? That makes no sense. All his brain activity is clear, nothings abnormal, but he can’t sense his Were and he can’t remember anything from the past ten years. Those are two separate systems and they’re both fucked up.”

 

“The car accident was traumatic.” Stiles motions Scott out of their bedroom. Last thing he needs is Derek coming home to them in his space. “Can you get downstairs already? We’re running late and Dad’s going to start to worry.”

 

“It doesn’t make sense.” Scott continues but he leaves anyway. “And he’s not even trying.”

 

“It’s a process.”

 

“But Stiles—”

 

“Scott.” Stiles interrupts, speaking very slowly because the words are hard to get out but he needs to say this, just once. If only to make Scott understand. “I’m hanging on by a fucking thread, here, ok? So, no more conspiracy theories. I can’t handle it.”

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

 

Derek doesn’t have shit to do when he gets back to the house. Stiles is out for the afternoon, something to do with John. His therapy session had left a bad taste in his mouth, even more so then the meeting with Paige.

 

The neatly stacked boxes are right where he left them. He’s been meaning to sort through them but every time he tries, he’s brains feels fractured.

 

His laptop is sitting in the home office.

 

Now is as good a time as any. He has the house to himself and time to kill.

 

After he turns the computer on, Derek heads upstairs to the kitchen. It still looks foreign.  Without Stiles’ watchful eyes tracking his movements hopefully, Derek is more at ease as he looks through the fridge.

 

People keep telling him he was good at this.

 

Derek starts easy. There’s some bacon, lettuce, sharp cheddar and bread. It’s not exactly Michelin star quality but he fixes a BLT, leaving the dishes in the sink.

 

“Hey sourwolf, omega doesn’t mean dishwasher!”

 

Derek hadn’t heard Stiles come in, he turns around to make a flippant remark only to find the kitchen empty. He looks over the empty room, but there’s no one else. He searches the house, checks the garage but Stiles’ jeep is still gone.

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

 

An hour later, Derek sits looking at the computer screen stunned. His BLT forgotten on the desk corner. The mirror above the bed was just the tip of the iceberg. He was an exhibitionist, not Stiles, but him. Boyd was right. He’s the fucking iceberg.

 

Derek had innocently clicked on a folder labeled ‘work project.’ The folder contained only three files. Two of them were in spreadsheets and the third was another folder labeled ‘yes’.

 

The video file had caught his attention.

 

It isn’t a work project.

 

On Derek’s computer screen, Stiles is naked; spread out shamelessly on white sheets, pale skin bathed in soft morning light streaming through the open curtains. It’s not the bed upstairs, and these walls look vaguely familiar. It’s the loft Derek owned before.

“Promise you’ll delete this?”  The Stiles on screen asks, voice dipping shyly. He’s blushing, ears turning that same red they had in the hospital. Derek’s not sure if its put on or what because he looks excited and willing.

 

Derek blinks down at the screen, hand hovering over the pause button. He should stop. If he had any sense of decency he would stop.

“Scout’s honor.” Screen Derek promises, and even Derek can hear the lie.

_“Alpha, you’re lying.” Laughing, Stiles turns over unto his back, sheets slipping down over his lean waist. “You are a lying, liar who lies.”_

_“Baby, this is just for me; my eyes only.”_

_Stiles’ hand drifts down over his flat stomach, brushing down the downy hair of his happy trail to the sharp jut of his hip bones “Mm, just for you?”_

_“Yeah.” Derek’s voice is lust rough, deep and possessive. It comes out in a purr. “You’re so beautiful.”_

_Derek tugs down the white sheets, exposing Stiles entirely._

_Shy, he attempts to close his legs but Derek stops him, hand moving up the inside of his knee._

And he is beautiful, long lines and soft skin flushed pink. Derek can feel himself growing hard. He’s alone, so he doesn’t try and pretend he’s not aroused, that he’s not greedily taking in every curve and slope of the omega’s body.

 

Fuck.

 

Derek had been lying to Boyd, but he won’t to himself. He finds the Stiles on the screen sexy, enthralling. His movements are confident, but not practiced, designed to pique the alpha’s interest.

 

To prolong the chase that isn’t a chase at all.

_Screen Derek speaks. “My favorite place.”_

_This time Stiles does hide his red face, turning it into the pillow when Derek spreads his legs, touches the most intimate part of him._

Pulse racing, Derek pauses the video frantically. He feels like an intruder, like he’s watching someone else. He sure as hell hadn’t been expecting to find this when he decided to go through his computer. But it’s right there in front of him and it’s turning him on like nothing else.

 

He’s hard.

 

This is wrong, he shouldn’t be watching this.

 

Derek presses play, eyes fixed to the screen in rapt fascination.

 

Sweat beads at his brow.

 

_“If I’m so beautiful why are you all the way over there?”_

_“Enjoying the view.” Derek drawls. “Open those legs for me, Kit.”_

_Stiles is dangerously red now but he parts his legs, exposing his half hard cock and smooth balls._

_“Perfect, now look at me.”_

_Even the tips of his ears are pink but Stiles obeys, breath coming faster as he starts to lazily stroke himself, eyes never leaving Derek’s. Never leaving the camera._

_The view pans down. Stiles’ hole is flushed a deep pink and wet, gleaming with slick and what can only be Derek’s seed._

_Derek groans._

_Stiles starts to touch himself, teases first one finger and then two inside of his body, hole opening greedily around the intrusion._

_There’s a muffled curse and the camcorder is dropped to the table. Derek coming fully into view. Naked as the day he was born. Stiles gives a breathless laugh, arms coming around Derek immediately when he drops down over him, settles between his thighs, cock in hand to guide it into Stiles’ slick hole._

Derek’s momentarily taken aback by how like himself he looks. Or how Derek thought he looked when he woke up from the coma. He’s got to be closer to twenty-six or seven on the tape. He’s leaner than he is now, but still muscled. The bulk isn’t there though. He’s still clean shaven, jaw smooth and brow furrowed.

 

It punches home how wrong this is. It’s him on the screen, but not really. But this is Stiles, and his life and his memories that he’s jerking off to.

Fuck guilt, he needs to get off.

 

Now.

Derek swears under his breath, hands fumbling with the top button of his jeans. He’s hard and leaking, cock throbbing against the seam of his jeans and seconds away from coming. With nothing else to use, Derek spits into his palm and takes himself in hand, groaning at the momentary relief his grip provides.

_Stiles moans loudly when Derek thrusts into him, hands digging into the broad expanse of Derek’s muscled back. He’s leaving red scratches in his wake, the marks healing almost as quickly as they appear. They move together primitively, rhythm fast and hard. Demanding. Stiles gives as good as he gets, hips rising to receive him, welcome him._

_“Mmm…. Oh God. Please.”_

_Derek growls, bracketing Stiles face between his hands, holing him captive as he plunders his mouth in deep, dragging kisses. Stiles is shaking, shuddering when his legs are drawn up to his chest and Derek thrusts in all the way to the hilt._

From the angle of the camcorder, Derek can see everything. The dark flush of his cock driving in and out of Stiles’ hole, the way the globes of Stiles’ ass grip him like they never want him to leave.

Derek strokes himself harder, imagining how hot and tight Stiles must be, how fucking good he’d feel around his cock. He groans as his movements speed up.

 

_“Please.” Stiles is sobbing now, face red and messy, mouth gaping as Derek swallows his cries. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop. I love you, I love you.”_

 

That’s all it takes; Derek spills hot over his fist biting down on his lip to keep from shouting, knot inflating as his orgasm overtakes him.

 

“Shit.” Derek says dazed, staring down at himself. He squeezes his fingers, wringing a few more drops of come from his spent dick. “Shit.”

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

 

It’s only later, long after Derek’s cleaned himself up and washed the dishes. Long after he’s showered and gone to bed, that he realizes.

 

He hadn’t thought of Paige once.

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

“What are you in the mood for?”

 

Derek blinks at Stiles as he burps Leo. “Huh?”

 

“Take out or what?”

 

“Whatever’s fine.”

 

Stiles frowns but doesn’t really argue. Derek’s been acting strange for the past few days; jumpy and awkward. He’s shies away more than ever when Stiles come near him which is annoying. The virgin routine on Derek is laughable.

 

“Or, I brought back leftovers from Dad’s? Feel like Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes? We went all out, no diet day.”

 

Derek looks at him sharply, mouth twisted into a sour grimace. “I’ll pass.”

 

“So then maybe you can cook? I’m getting sick of Chinese; those little baby corns cannot be natural, man.”

 

“I don’t know how to cook.”

 

“You did before. Try and see what happens. Maybe sense memory or something will kick in?” Stiles fishes out a bag of rice from the pantry. “I’m craving your chicken over rice.”

 

A dark brow raises skeptically. “I can order pizza if you’re sick of Chinese.”

 

“No!” Stiles throws caution to the wind and grabs Derek’s hand. Not like the other man can really do anything when he’s holding Leo. “It’ll be fun! You work on the vegetables and I’ll marinate the chicken, that much I remember.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Really?” Stiles gloats. “You’ll do it?”

 

“Just to shut you up.” Derek’s cheeks are suspiciously red when he tugs his hand out of Stiles.’“Don’t get mad at me if it goes to shit.”

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

It goes to shit.

 

But they have fun getting there.

 

Stiles adds too much salt to the chicken and over cooks the rice into a soggy pudding. Derek does a passable job with the broccoli and carrots but they still end up ordering pizza anyway.

 

“This is so gooooood.” Stiles moans around a mouthful of cheesy goodness and spicy sausage. He hasn’t had _Federico’s_ in along time. It’s even better that Derek got his favorite toppings. “How’d you know how much I love sausage?”

 

Derek’s face is red again. “Just a guess.”

 

Stiles hums in response, juggling a drowsy Leo who’s nursing in greedy pulls even as Stiles stuffs his face. After weeks of this, Stiles has stopped feeling self -conscious. He’s got his flannel shirt unbuttoned and sauce on his chin while his pup breastfeeds: probably looks a mess. He’s never felt better.

 

It’s more than just the spending time together. They’ve talked. Sure, it’s been mostly about the past, Derek’s family to be exact and Cora. It’s the same as before with Cora, she wants nothing to do with Beacon Hills and anything that stirs up memories. Unfortunately, that includes her brother. Her blame is misplaced, Derek hadn’t antagonized the alpha pack but she’s too imbedded in her grief to see that.

 

It had been touch and go for a while after the Cora conversation, but Derek seemed to understand, especially now that he knew she was getting his calls and choosing not to return them. Stiles then steered the conversation to lighter topics, like Isaac’s fashion show in Milan, where he tripped in his clogs. The video had made Derek laugh and Stiles felt like he won the lottery.

 

Derek reaching out to him, relying on him, is a big step in the right direction. One Stiles appreciates after his father repeatedly drilling into his head that Derek was no good for him.

 

“What time are you going into the bar Wednesday?” Stiles asks as he reaches for his fourth slice. Grinning when Derek looks at him astonished, he _told_ Derek he could eat a whole pie. “Leo’s got a check-up scheduled.”

 

“What time?”

 

“Noon.”

 

“I have to see the shrink.”

 

“We could take separate cars. I know you have a therapy session.”

 

“That’ll work.”

 

Stiles grins, talking with his mouth full. “Good, that’s great.”

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

That night, long after Stiles has gone to bed, Derek opens the laptop, makes sure the door is locked. He tries not to feel guilty.

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

 

“What are you doing home?”

 

Stiles twists around on the couch. Derek is back from his run, bottle of water in hand. He’s left his sneakers near the door, kicking them off and leaving them there in a way he’d never have done before.

 

“Leo didn’t sleep much last night.” Stiles explains tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I think he’s teething or maybe coming down with something.”

 

“Wolves don’t get sick.”

 

“Foxes and humans do.” Stiles reminds him quietly. He rubs Leo’s back soothingly.  His son hasn’t wanted to be moved from his chest all day, pressing his cheek over Stiles’ heart and chewing on the end of his shirt. “I’m monitoring him, clingy like a limpet but he seems okay.”

 

Derek nods, but his expression is cloudy. “What are you watching?”

 

“Wedding video.” Stiles is self-conscious but it’s not like he can deny it when its playing on the mounted flat screen. Besides, this is normal, everyone does this, okay. “Thought it was fitting and all.”

 

Surprising him, Derek sits down on the couch next to them. “Why?”

 

“What?”

 

Derek’s close enough that Stiles can scent him in rich pulls. He smells like wet earth, pine and heady rain. He misses falling asleep cloaked in that scent, misses Derek scent marking him to make sure every other Were knew who he belonged to.

 

“Why is it fitting?”

 

“Anniversary and all.”

 

A muscle in his jaw tick, Derek shifts uncomfortably. “It’s our anniversary?”

 

Stiles looks at the television, avoiding all eye contact. He’s sure his expression is pathetic. “Wedding anniversary. Happy seven years.”

 

There’s no response to that, but Derek doesn’t leave. Instead, he grabs the remote off the coffee table and raises the volume.

 

On screen, Stiles and Derek are standing on the pier, hands clasped. They’re wearing black tuxes, well Stiles is. Derek’s got on just the tuxedo pants, a white dress shirt and his leather jacket.

 

Their wedding had been spur of the moment, Derek wanting it small and intimate, but Stiles needing everyone to see how happy he was. How his happiness had found him. They’d compromised. Stiles caved in to Derek’s small wedding and Stiles got married on the pier, where his parents met.

 

“Isaac officiated?” Derek sounds amused, and when Stiles looks over at him he’s smiling. “Why am I not surprised?”

 

“We were his practice wedding, did about twelve more after ours.”

 

“That’s awesome.”

 

Stiles is saying his vows now, his voice is loud and clear, unwavering.

_Derek, today, I promise you this: I will laugh with you, and comfort you. I will share in your dreams and support you. I will listen to you with compassion and understanding, and speak to you with encouragement. Let us be partners, friends and lovers, today and all the days that follow._

 

Stiles repeats those words in his mind, watching Derek as he does. When he had spoken those words seven years ago he never thought he’d be living through something like this. He imagined them having disagreements, little fights and arguments that only strengthened them. He imagined sharing a life, sharing a family with the man he loves.

 

Stiles isn’t idealistic by any means, no matter what people think of him. His parents’ marriage had taught him that love is hard and messy and it can fucking _hurt_. When he’d spoken those vows to Derek, he hadn’t done it with stars in his eyes. He’d meant them, because he was sure of the fact that, no matter what, they would love each other, and that would be enough to see them through whatever life threw at them.

 

“What am I saying?”

 

Derek, contrary to Stiles loud declaration, had whispered his vows into Stiles’ ear. It had been something for just the two of them. The compromise of not eloping. Derek wrote his vows, confessed later on it took him months to find words that he still felt weren’t enough. The words weren’t picked up by the recording, just as Derek intended. But Stiles knows them by heart.

 

“Well?”

 

“I really can’t remember.” Stiles lies, forcing a smile as he rocks Leo. “But you were traditional, wanted to read your vows given by the church.”

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

 

“And has he presented yet?”

 

Leo is squirming in the pediatrician’s grip, wearing only his white diaper, glorious chubby baby rolls proudly on display. Lydia has stripped off his blue onesie and undershirt to examine him.  Although patient to start, he’s beginning to grow restless, likely overwhelmed by the unfamiliar smells.

 

“No.” Derek replies and Leo turns towards his voice. The pup sneezes, his whole body going rigid.  By the look on Derek’s face you’d think Leo had been dropped on his head. “Can you dress him now?”

 

“He’s okay.” Stiles says but begins dressing him anyway. “And he has done some minor shifting.”

 

“He has?” Derek asks sharply, accusing.

 

“It’s nothing much.” Stiles avoids his gaze as he tugs the shirt over Leo’s head. “Just a hint of teeth and fur at his ears. Only when he gets overworked.”

 

“That’s good.” Lydia replies smoothly. “He’s early; most werewolves start closer to a year. You’re a smart one, Leonard.”

 

Stiles beams, kissing the top of Leo’s head where his curls are starting to appear. “Of course, he is, kid’s a werewolf with the spirit of a fox. The best of both worlds.”

 

Lydia smiles indulgently, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ears as she takes a seat. “He’s in the ninety ninth percentile for his height and weight. Are you still nursing?”

 

Stiles nods. “If you could only see my poor nips.”

 

“Well, you can start introducing solids; mashed fruit, infant cereal.” She reaches into her desk drawer and hands him a printed form. “I’ve compiled a list of foods specifically for his sensitive stomach. You can give your ‘nips’ a break. Did you give any thought to what I said about making your own baby food?”

 

“Uh, that was Derek’s project more than mine.”

 

Derek is bewildered. “We’ll have to consider that.”

 

“It’s easier than you think.”

 

Stiles holds Leo up out in front of Derek. The moment he sees his father’s face, Leo gives him a gummy smile, drool wetting his chin.

 

Derek grins right back. “Hey, Tiger, want me to make you real food?”

 

Stiles laughs. “His Daddy will get started on mashing those bananas right away.”

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

 

“Isn’t he adorable?”

 

Leo is dressed in a white fleece romper, a white head band of ears fixed on his head and when Stiles’ turns him around he’s got a white cotton ball attached to his butt.

 

Derek pulls a face. “Why is he dressed like a rabbit?”

 

“Uhm, maybe because it’s the most magical night of the year: Halloween.” Stiles gives him a dubious look. “Did you forget?”

 

“Is that a big deal outside of high school?”

 

“It is to us, especially because we have Leo.”

 

“He’s not a rabbit; he’s a wolf.”

 

“Oh my god, where’s your sense of humor?” Stiles drops Leo down onto his lap. “He’s the cutest bunny to ever bunny.”

 

Derek looks at Stiles noticing for the first time the itty, bitty ponytail he’s managed to scrap his hair into. His hair is spray painted green. He has a jar of orange paint and is now methodically painting his face.

 

“What the hell are you doing?”

 

“I’m a carrot.” Stiles says, like that makes sense. “He’s a bunny so I’m a carrot.”

 

“I can never understand how your mind works.”

 

“It’s a wonderful and magical place.” Stiles grins, extends the jar. “It’s not too late to be a carrot.”

 

“I’ll pass.”

 

“But you’ll come trick -or-treating, right?”

 

Derek shrugs, looking down at Leo, who’s looking up at him, big hazel eyes wide as he tries to grip his shirt in his chubby fist. He’s getting big, sitting up and trying to pull himself up far quicker than any human child would. Or a fox. Derek leans close, noses at him to see if he can catch the hint of a scent.

 

“Cause the pack is coming over, we’re starting in Helena because rumor has it they’re giving out full size candy bars!”

 

“That’s fine, Stiles.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to be a carrot?”

 

 

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

“You’re an overgrown child.”

 

“Ugh, shut up.” Stiles groans, he’s curled up on the couch in sweats, rubbing his stomach. Leo is on the floor, changed out of his bunny costume and staring up at him curiously. “I need an adult.”

 

“You are an adult.”

 

“Why did you let me eat so many snickers bars.”

 

“You stole them from the kid’s baskets.”

 

“Stealing candy from babies.” Stiles mumbles weakly in explanation. “I have no self -control.”

 

“Won’t argue with you on that.” Derek walks into the room, nudging Stiles into a sitting position. He sits down in the space left. “Drink your tea.”

 

“You made me tea?”

 

It leaves Derek uncomfortable how grateful Stiles is for something so small. It makes him feel ashamed.

 

“It’s hot water and a bag dropped into it, don’t make it a big deal.”

 

“Never.” Stiles smiles wide. “Thank you.”

 

While Stiles sips his ginger tea, Derek picks Leo up, rocking him in the same manner he’s seen Stiles do so many times before. Eventually, Leo stops reaching for Stiles when Derek growls quietly in reassurance. Then the baby settles down to let Derek scent him before falling asleep. Stiles is drowsy too. He’s finished his tea and slumped back down on the couch, head falling on Derek’s shoulder. Derek doesn’t move him.

 

“Der?” Stiles mumbles, already half asleep. He rubs his cheek against Derek’s chest, settling in. “People thought I was an oompa-loompa tonight.”

 

Those are his last words before he starts to snore.

 

He can’t help but smile.

 

Derek’s arm is going numb and he’s contemplating carrying them both upstairs when his cellphone vibrates. Stiles makes a sound of displeasure, turning in his arms until he’s wedge a leg between Derek’s.

 

Careful not to wake him, Derek checks the phone.

 

Unknown:  Seeing you the other day brought back a lot of old memories. It was hard to deal with.  But I’ve had some time to cool off. If the offer is still there, I’d really like to meet up and talk.

 

 _Paige_.

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

 

 

It’s not as if Derek is lying. He’s not saying where he’s going and Stiles doesn’t ask, even though Derek can tell he wants to by the way his amber eyes stalk his every move.

 

Still, no harm, no foul. He’s not doing anything wrong. Just meeting with a friend.

 

This is part of that space the Doctor recommends.

 

Paige meets him on neutral ground. It’s always public and they’re never alone. They meet up at restaurants or the park, frequenting one diner off Berkley Road that has a peach cobbler they both love. Derek isn’t much for sweets but his mother made a peach cobbler that used to knock his socks off.  It’s always been his favorite. The first time they met there, Paige had a slice waiting, vanilla bean ice cream on the side.

 

She knows these little things about him.

 

Still does.

 

Paige seems to be doing well, she’s more reserved then Derek remembers; he has to coax smiles out of her and work harder still for words. She hadn’t been that way before, but she’s got good reason after what he put her through.

 

And that’s the hardest thing to accept. That he left her, that he hurt her and disappeared. The only thing that he can think, he can’t say.

 

She says it for him.

 

“You’re a specist. I wasn’t your species. That was the end of it all.”

 

“How could I…?” Derek stammers, remember earlier words to Stiles. “I’m not a bigot.”

 

The look she gives him says he is. “You had beliefs, Derek, and you stuck to them. I used to admire that, it was part of the reason why I fell in love with you. I guess that’s why, in a way, through all the hurt you caused, I understood.”

 

Inexplicably, that’s what makes her eyes bright with tears. Derek wants to hold her, but he’s forfeited that right.

 

After an aborted movement, Derek touches her hand.

 

Paige laughs, wiping her eyes as she stares down at his fingers covering hers.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, I am. Thank you.” Paige finally says shakily and when she lifts her head, Derek can see she’s smiling. “Didn’t realize how much speaking to you would affect me, but in a good way, cathartic. It’s as if I can start healing.”

 

“I’m sorry you had to wait so long for it.”

 

“Ten years? Not so long at all.”

 

They both laugh but eventual fall into a comfortable silence.

 

Derek is thinking about himself; his thoughts on mixed species pairings and how far it apparently ran. He had hurt Paige because he wouldn’t mate outside of his species. Then how does he explain mating with Stiles? A werefox. They were nearly the end of the line, above only bats, and just barely.

 

But Stiles said he chased him, he pursued him.

 

Paige interrupts his thoughts. “Can I ask you something?”

 

“Anything.”

 

“Why Stiles?” The smile is still there but bleeding into the nostalgia is something undefined.  “Why was it okay to be with him and not me?”

 

The most incredible thing about Paige, the one thing Derek misses more than anything, is her ability to be so in tune to his thoughts.

 

There’s no plausible reason as to why he’d mate outside of his species after leaving Paige for the same reason.

 

Unless… there’s something greater he’s disconnected with.

 

Unless Stiles somehow managed to become so important to him that his image, his beliefs, were worthless in comparison.

 

Derek wishes he knew, wishes he had something to give her.

 

“It’s like…since we were together, you had this set idea of who you would mate with, how your life would be.”

 

“I remember.”

 

“And Stiles, he went against all that. You know? That was the most surprising part when you took up with him. I called you once, after.” She says quietly. “And you told me it was like being struck by lightning, it couldn’t happen twice in a lifetime. Here, he was a werefox, a promiscuous one, a step above the trailer park, and you’d gone and put a ring on his finger.”

 

The warm feeling in Derek’s belly curdles to acid. “He’s not all bad.”

 

“Didn’t say he was.”

 

Derek tries to ignore it, but once the thought is in his mind, he can’t not say anything. “What do you mean by promiscuous?”

 

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

“How’re are you doing on that grading?”

 

Jordan is standing in the doorway, leaning on the frame. He must be working late too, but heading home if the briefcase at his feet is any indication.

 

Stiles hasn’t done a single paper.  He’s been staring down at the stack for the past hour, but his thoughts have been consumed with Derek. Hysterically, he thinks he’ll just give everyone As and Bs at random.

 

“Getting through it, I guess.”

 

“If you need any help, I’d be more than happy to lend a hand. I know you’re going through a lot right now with Derek.”

 

“I can handle it.” Stiles replies tightly. He knows his personal life is the talk of the town. The teacher’s lounge always gets suspiciously quiet when he enters. Gotta love this little town. “I can manage my own course load.”

 

Jordan sighs. “I didn’t mean anything by it, just trying to help.”

 

“I know.” Stiles sighs, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Look, I know a great Mexican place down the block; margaritas the size of your head. Five dollars a pop.”

 

Tequila sounds like heaven right now. 

 

Stiles ignores the voice in his head that warns him about turning to alcohol to solve his problems. “I’m still nursing.”

 

“Pump and dump, right?” At that Stiles blushes and Jordan laughs. “My sister swears by it.”

 

“I don’t know…”

 

“C’mon man, if there was ever anyone who needed a nice, stiff one it’s you.”

 

Stiles arches a brow, turning red. “Really?”

 

“A drink, Stilinski, a drink.”

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

Derek hates Jordan on sight.  He’s got the sort of open and eager face that reeks of bullshit. Derek knows the type. He’ll smile to his face and try and move in on his husband in the next breath the moment his back is turned. Sneaky coward.

 

Dinner is awkward. Stiles is the only one talking, rambling about   a new marvel movie or something or the other. Derek’s not really paying attention, he’s more concerned with the way Jordan is fascinated with Stiles mouth.

 

Promiscuous.

 

Did he have sex with this guy?

 

“So, Stiles says you’re a Lakers fan?”

 

The question, the first after the obligatory ‘how are you’ upon his arrival, takes Derek by surprise. It does nothing to quell his mounting anger. He can picture the two of them together and once the image is in his head he can’t get rid of it.

 

It makes him even angrier that he doesn’t have the right to be angry, not really.

 

Derek stares at Jordan, pointedly not responding. 

 

Stiles is clearing away dishes and looking at Derek over his shoulder like he doesn’t trust him.

 

 

Stiles makes a face at him.

 

Jordan flushes, “There’s a game on tonight. I don’t know if you guys have any plans but we could--”

 

“We’re going to turn in early.” Derek cuts in. “So, no thanks.”

 

The dismissal is obvious and finally the punk takes the hint.

 

“I guess I’ll head home then.” Jordan smiles brightly, gaze skipping over Derek and back to Stiles. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

Derek waits until he hears the front door close before rounding on Stiles. “I don’t like him.”

 

“You don’t know him.”

 

“Did I know him before?”

 

Stiles nods but he’s avoiding Derek’s eyes.

 

“And you’re telling me I liked the guy?”

 

Stiles steps around him and shrugs. “You weren’t close.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

“Derek, unless you’re volunteering to give Leo a bath, move.”

 

“Probably because his eyes are glued to your ass.” Derek spits. “Did you fuck him?”

 

Stiles recoils, “Excuse me?”

 

“You heard what I said.”

 

“I can’t believe you.”

 

“Easy question.”

 

“No, asshole, I’ve never.”

 

Once he gets started he can’t stop. “But you were with other guys, right? ”

 

“Where is this coming from?’

 

“Kind of got around, didn’t you?”

 

The slap should have been expected but it knocks Derek for a six. His cheek is stinging, flushing hot with the force of the blow.

 

“Fuck you, Derek.” Lips trembling, Stiles backs away. “Just fuck you.”

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

Derek wakes abruptly in the night out of a fitful sleep.

 

Someone is moving around down stairs.

 

Aware that it could just be Stiles up with the baby, Derek goes down stairs, follows the noise. He’d been an absolute ass tonight, even for him. He wants to apologize to Stiles, should apologize, but he hadn’t been able to find the words then.

 

Stiles is in the den, but it’s not Stiles. He looks too thin, hair cut close to his scalp and he’s fully dressed in a graphic shirt and jeans, boots laced even though it’s the middle of the night and Derek had seen him go into the guest room in striped pajamas.

 

He looks how he did years ago.

 

The air around him seems to vibrate, shimmer in vibrant hues of blue as he turns to smile at Derek.

 

“Babe, we should get a ping-pong table in here or something? But no pool because you’re a freaking shark and my ego can only handle losing so many times.”

 

Derek halts, unsure of what exactly he’s seeing.

 

Although just feet away, his voice fades in and out, like it’s coming from a distance, through a wind tunnel.

 

Derek doesn’t move, stares at the ethereal figure.

 

“Grab those boxes, will you?”

 

Derek looks in the direction the figure is pointing, and when he turns back around the _thing_ is gone. The den is empty. Derek looks around, searching for some sign of whatever just happened, pinches himself in case he’s sleepwalking but it’s real.

 

That Stiles had been real.

 

The light in the bathroom hall goes on.

 

Derek doesn’t move.

 

He’s not afraid, it’s not fear he’s feeling exactly but he’s unsettled. He doesn’t want to move.

 

There’s the sound of a toilet flushing.

 

Reluctantly, Derek walks down the hall.

 

The Stiles is now in there, slumped on the floor.

 

There’s none of the earlier smiles, he’s tired, hair wet with sweat, dressed in flannel pajamas and a blue tee shirt. He looks up at Derek but past him, like he’s seeing someone else too.

 

“I’m okay.” The figure says, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. He leans his forehead against the toilet. “Stop Der, I know, we knew to expect this. You can’t get like this every time I have morning sickness.” His hand rubs over his stomach. It’s distended, small bump evident even through the otherworldly glow. “He’s worth it.” He holds out a hand. “Help me up.”

 

Derek takes a step forward, momentarily forgetting that this isn’t real.

 

Pain doubles him over.

 

The figure continues to reach for him, but Derek can’t move, watches as it begins to dissolve.

 

The pain intensifies, sending him reeling. Derek scrambles for purchase, grabbing onto the sink to remain standing.

 

Warm liquid trickles out of his nose, Derek wipes at it with his hand.

 

Dark blood stains his fingertips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Likely weekly updates on this one guys!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, in my defense: CInco De Mayo (tequila) and Mother's Day (hai, mama), took over my weekends (only time I write)
> 
> This chapter, well, i like it, but it's not very sexy and i am impatient to get to sexy times.

 

_________________________

 

 

Coffee has the same shitty taste in every hospital. Stiles is starting to suspect that hospitals have secret contracts with the same shitty coffee supplying company to torment already tormented visitors with watery yet somehow _still_ sludge like liquid they graciously offer.

 

Stiles is on his third cup.

 

Sitting under the harsh fluorescent lights and hearing the incessant beep of the machines, he keeps telling himself that this will all work out; that life wouldn’t be this fucking cruel. He took his licks early on, had more than his share of bad shit. He was born a mixed fox in a predominantly heavy seed community; panthers, bear and the legendary wolves. Bottom of the barrel. But it gets worse. His mother ran off and left him and his father, heartless enough to remain in the same town with her new mate. But wait, there’s more. She dies and leaves him alone before he can tell her just how much he fucking hates her and yet loves her with _everything_ in him.

 

Before Derek, before he let himself trust another man, he’d been unable to understand her. But in the early days, one night he’d looked at Derek and knew.  Derek was clipping his toenails of all things, big foot up on his coffee table, brow furrowed in concentration and a wave of love had hit him. Clipping his fucking toenails. Stiles doesn’t think he’d ever truly forgive his mother for leaving, he can’t imagine walking away from Leo, but he knows how she may have felt and he wishes he had been able to talk to her.

 

Something about the flickering overhead lights makes it hard to breathe. Before the accident, when Derek was his, he had a way of calming Stiles. Stiles would be freaking out and somehow, Derek would get his attention, cock his head and purse his lips into an inquiring smile, like he could sense him. The smile would do it, the hue of his eyes and the dark stubble of his cheek where a dimple would appear. Stiles would focus on him and sync his breath to that of his mates, inhale and exhale. Derek was strong; strong enough for the both of them, strong enough for Stiles to believe whatever it was would be alright. And even if it wasn’t? He wouldn’t be facing it alone.

 

Stiles has been sitting in the hard, plastic chairs of the waiting room for close to three hours; sipping cold coffee and trying not to think the worst when his father arrives.

 

“How is he?”

                                                           

Trying to hide the worst of it, Stiles wipes his eyes discreetly on the sleeve of his grey hoodie before facing him. “Deaton says all they can do is observe, nothing is physically wrong with him, so they don’t know.”

 

“How are you?”

 

It’s not cold but he can’t stop shaking.

 

Walking into the bathroom and finding Derek ashen, slumped against the wall, blood staining his mouth, chin and shirt a dark crimson:  he’d been terrified. It looked like the end. He thought he was going to touch Derek, find him cold. That he’d lost him for good.

 

Just hours before he’d been so _angry_ at Derek, he’d wanted to hurt him and then

 

And then he’d found him on the ground, covered in blood.

 

Stiles blames himself.

 

It makes no sense, but grief rarely does.

 

His father is asking him if he’s okay and Stiles is so far from it that he nearly gives into hysterical laughter.

 

The stupid tears are back again. It’s been building inside of him; how much he’s lost. He’s grateful, he is, but he’s hurting. The last thing he wants to do is cry in front of his Dad. He tries to step around his father, mumbles about checking up on Leo, but John catches him.

 

“You’re okay, son.” John hugs him tight and the fight drains out of him. “It’s going to be alright. You’re okay.”

 

_________________________

 

_Stiles’ bedroom exactly the way Derek pictured it; right down to unmade blue checkered bed sheets that are hanging to the floor and the peeling poster of Han Solo above it. There’s a scarred oak book shelf to the left of the small desk. It’s crammed full of notebooks and figurines. The top shelf is set as a battle of some kind, a dozen action figures facing off: Juggernaut on one end, Dr. Doom on the other. Derek thinks that’s who they are anyway. He didn’t spend much time reading comics. Derek touches the foremost figure and Stiles makes an alarmed sound, like he’s offended Derek touched in the first place._

_“Marvel versus Capcom. Obviously.” Stiles supplies agitated. He’s been watching Derek like a hawk since he let him in through the window. “Don’t tip it over!”_

_Derek raises both hands up in the air and rolls his eyes. “I mean them no harm.”_

_“Oh, ha ha.”_

_There’s a box of opened condoms peeking out from the top drawer of the nightstand, the flashy gold kind that assholes buy so people can see them buying it. Stiles follows his gaze and flushes dark red. He kicks the drawer shut._

_“You need to go. My dad is going to be home soon.”_

_Even without the nervous expression and accelerated heartbeat, Derek would know it’s a lie._

_“Everyone knows Sheriff works nights on Wednesday.”_

_“Is that why you came here?”_

_“Wanted some privacy.” Derek isn’t sure how these things are supposed to go and he doesn’t like feeling insecure. He’s always been confident but standing in front of his little fox he wishes he had something more to offer than himself. “To talk.”_

_“To talk.” Stiles repeats in a mocking tone. “Listen, I’m grateful, big guy, seriously, you hulk smash like nobody’s business. You saved my ass.” Stiles flattens his palm against Derek’s chest, pushing him back towards the open window. “But I don’t owe you anything. So, bye. And don’t crawl through people’s windows. It’s weird.”_

_“I’m not... you don’t owe me anything.”_

_There’s a dark bruise on Stiles’ jaw, matches the red of his busted lip._

_Derek can’t look away from that spot._

_He wants._

_“Really?” The look Stiles’ gives him is rife with skepticism. “Why else would you be here in the middle of the night? Came here to have some tea and cookies?”_

_“To talk.”_

_“You said that already, not buying it.” He crosses his arms over his chest and Derek follows the graceful flex of his muscles. He’s on the wrong side of thin, but something about the fox enflames him. “What do you want?”_

_“You.”_

_Derek hadn’t expected to say that but once the word is out it can’t be called back. His confession hangs heavy between them as the silence lengthens._

_Then Stiles laughs, nervously and loudly, not at all unlike a donkey. “No, you don’t.”_

_“Yes, I do.”_

_“You want sex.”_

_“I want you in that way too, but mostly? I want to listen to your thoughts, hear more about those short stories you’re writing, see more of your work. I want to watch you sleep and see you wild beneath the moon. It’s... I’ve lived in Beacon Hills my entire life and I nearly missed you. I don’t want to be strangers again. You listened to me, Stiles, and when I was honest, you didn’t run.”_

_“In my defense, I’d been drinking.”_

_“Don’t make it into a joke.” Derek says quietly. “When we talk it’s more than just words.”_

_“It’s because there’s no one left for you to talk to.”_

_They’re harsh words but Derek sees through them. Stiles is scared._

_“It’s because you’re you.”_

_“You don’t know me.”_

_“But I want to.”_

_“You’re a wolf; an alpha wolf.”_

_“And you’re beautiful.”_

_There’s a flicker of something in Stiles eyes, a bright spark before caution reigns it in._

_Deciding to press the advantage, Derek steps closer, hands raising slowly to Stiles’ thin shoulders. He doesn’t want to alarm him. He can feel how nervous the young fox is, can scent the sharp spike of anxiety but he can’t stop himself from touching._

_“Don’t…” But Stiles doesn’t push him away. “I don’t have anything to say.”_

_“You don’t have to say anything. Feel.” Derek places Stiles’ hand against his chest, smiling when Stiles looks up at him in disbelief. He must be able to feel the fast staccato, the heavy beat drumming against his palm._

_“What do you want from me, Derek?”_

_The words are tired, bolstered by years of distrust. Every person, human and Were alike, who used him reinforced the insecurities he tries so hard to hide with bravado._

_A few days before Derek wouldn’t have known how to answer. He’d only known the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he watched Stiles leave a bar with someone else. He’d tried to write it off, tried to categorize the overwhelming possessiveness as reluctant friendship and nothing more. He was lonely, Stiles was convenient; easy._

_But then Derek thinks of seeing Stiles pinned to the wall, nose bloodied as an alpha fumbled with the metal fastening of his jeans. The rage and fear that went through him when he realized Stiles was in trouble._

_“I want you to dance with me.”_

_Stiles tilts his head, nose wrinkled in confusion. It’s adorable. “What?”_

_“Dance.”_

_“Are you rabid?”_

_“I’ve wanted to dance with you for a long time.”_

_“No music.”_

_Derek walks over to the computer, flipping through Stiles’ music until he stops at the song._

_“You like the Beatles?”_

_“Who doesn’t?”_

_Derek smiles, he can’t help it and he watches those amber eyes track the tiny movement of his mouth. The expression on Stiles’ face is indecipherable, but he doesn’t resist when Derek pulls him against his chest, one hand sliding down his back to fall at his narrow waist._

_Although it’s not exactly polite, Derek inhales deep.  Stiles smells like fresh linen, bursts of citrus throughout pine notes. Derek could get drunk on it. Nothing has smelled so right, made him feel crazed and ground all at once. His nerves are tingling, the sharp hint of his claws make Stiles shiver, but he can feel him, groans softly at the flood of arousal drenching his senses. This boy is his for the taking, but Derek does nothing. He takes the lead, tucking Stiles’ head into his neck, setting the tone._

_Note by note, Stiles relaxes against him._

_There are places, I remember, all my life, though some have changed._

_Derek noses down the slope of Stiles’ neck, chases his scent to where it’s strongest. Stiles lets him, slim fingers gripping the thin material of Derek’s shirt, like he needs something to ground him._

_“I want this to be our song.” Derek admits. “Good fit for us.”_

_“There is no us.”_

_“There will be.”_

Derek opens his eyes slowly, fighting his way through pain and to the surface. He tries to hang on to the memory but it disintegrates like sand slipping through his fingers. It feels like coming up for air after being submerged under water. He’s in the hospital. He expected to be. Inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth slowly, Derek brings the pain under control.

 

There’s music playing in the room.

 

This is the song that played on some night, someplace.

 

But he knows it.

 

His parents. Derek had been six, too excited to sleep after a pack run. He crept down the carpeted stairs in his pajamas to the living room. His parents were dancing to a song as they spoke between them in whispers. Derek felt a burst of love for them, like a flash of lightening, and then his father looked up, directly at him and smiled, firelight casting him in rose gold.

 

There’s movement in his peripheral. Stiles. He’s not surprised. He’s singing along with the music, grey converse taping methodically on the white floors.

 

No use in delaying the inevitable. “Hey.”

 

“Shit!” Stiles jumps, dropping the iPad on the floor. “Hi!” He hastily picks up the device and sets it down on the chair before quickly coming to Derek’s beside. “Hey.” They stare at one another before Stiles offers a small smile. “So, uh, we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

 

Derek shuts his eyes. “Clever.”

 

“I try to be. Do you remember what happened?”

 

The hallucination. But he can’t admit to seeing things.

 

“No.”

 

“The doctors aren’t sure what caused the bleeding; they think maybe a spike in your blood pressure.” Stiles looks haggard. Knowing him, he was in the hospital all night. “When I found you…when I saw you like that. I thought. I was so _scared_...”

 

“I’m fine, Stiles.”

 

“I know, just.” Stiles wipes his eyes, smile strained. “I’m really happy you’re awake.”

 

“How long was I out?”

 

“A little over two days.”

 

“Did they say when I can get out of here?”

 

“That’s Deaton’s call.” Stiles heads for the door. “I’ll let him know you’re awake.”

 

“Stiles.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

He motions to the iPad where the music is still playing. “You like the Beatles?”

 

“Who doesn’t?”

 

 

_________________________

 

Two days later and Derek is allowed back home with strict instructions to rest and drink plenty of fluids. He’s going out of his mind. Stiles has regressed to watching his every move. He treats Derek like he’s Leo, constantly trying to force feed him vitamins or chasing him with a blood pressure cuff. It doesn’t matter how many times Derek reminds him he’s a Wolf, he won’t let up.

 

On Tuesday Stiles goes back to work and Derek manages to escape Scott’s watch and drive in to work.

He’s regretting that decision now.

 

Boyd is still laughing; there are tears running out of his eyes. He stops for a second and Derek thinks it’s over but the man starts right back up again, throwing his head back and snorting.

 

Some of the betas are starting to notice, Emily surreptitiously stealing glances as she wipes down the back booths. Derek’s learning that the small group in his employ are gossips and this, he doesn’t want to get out. He needs to talk to someone, and he can’t speak to Paige about this.

 

“Emily.” Derek calls and she instantly looks guilty. “Go help Liam with kitchen prep.”

 

She looks disappointed but gives an obedient nod before leaving.

 

Derek glares at Boyd when they’re alone.  “I’m glad you find this hilarious. My fucked-up memory is hilarious.”

 

“It’s not that.” Boyd wipes his eyes, finally slowing to a chuckle. “It’s just, _you_ , jerking off to your own mate, and being all repressed and tortured about it.”

 

“I _did not_ jerk off—”

 

“Sure.” Boyd gives him an incredulous look. “Okay, you were _watching_ a sex tape and not doing anything else at all. Maybe took the opportunity to say your evening prayers.”

 

“I’m trying to make sense of my life, asshole.”

 

Boyd laughs. “And this is a big step in the right direction. You may not remember the grittier details but the attraction must be there, for you to be praying to those home movies.”

 

“For the last time—”

 

“I’ll stop busting your balls. But Derek? This is _normal_ for you. It’s your thing. You like to be seen, it’s a kink or some shit.”

 

The mirror above the bed.

 

“I told you all this?”

 

Derek is a private person. He’s not repressed but he’s not open. The closest he got to discussing sex was when his father sputtered his way through the birds and bees a year after Derek had already lost his virginity.

 

“We lived together for a few months, you kinky bastard.” He waggles his brows. “What was on the tape exactly?”

 

Ignoring the question, Derek asks what has been on his mind since Paige let him know that Stiles was a party boy. “What about Stiles?”

 

“No idea.” Boyd shrugs. “Shit, we’ve got the mojitos on special tonight, real big with the after- work ladies, grab the mint, would you?”

 

“Aren’t I your boss?”

 

Derek gets the mint anyway. They work in silence for the next few minutes, Boyd cutting up sprigs of mint and Derek stocking the beer and laced liquor.

 

“Isla requested roast duck specifically, no turkey. You know how she gets.”

 

“Why are you telling me this? I look like your wife to you?”

 

“Thanksgiving is next week.” Boyd elaborates, pointing at him with the knife. “It’s at your place this year.”

 

“No, it’s not.”

 

“Yeah, it is. You insisted after you bought the place.’

 

“Before my brain was mushed to nothing.”

 

“Binding oral agreement. Erica gets crazy if she’s forced to plan _anything_. Besides, Stiles confirmed it’s a go. We’ll bring cobbler.”

 

Boyd disappears into the back kitchen without waiting for a reply. When he comes back he’s got a metal tray filled with limes. He hands Derek a sharp knife.

 

“Grunt work.”

 

“You’re very hands on.”

 

Mostly because he has nothing better to do, Derek starts slicing away.

 

“Hey.” Derek begins casually. “How much did you know of Stiles before we …hooked up?”

 

Boyd rolls his eyes, wiping down a row of shot glasses. “Hooked up?”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“Not that I’m not enjoying the heart to hearts but why do you keep asking me about him? Why not ask Stiles?”

 

“Not likely to get a straight answer.” Derek quarters another lime, tossing it into the growing pile. “You said you were my closest friend.”

 

“Just ask what you want to know.”

 

“Stiles date much before me?”

 

“Define date.”

 

Derek scowls. “Answer me.”

 

“He’s a fox, Derek, you remember how it was. Or I guess how it is, in your mind.  We didn’t frequent the same social circles.”

 

“But he used to party.”

 

“A few times I was down at _Avarice_ and saw him, dancing, drinking, regular shit.”

 

“With guys like Liam?”

 

“Why? Jealous?”

 

Boyd’s teasing, amusement written all over his face, but Derek’s livid.

 

Because he is jealous.

 

“Just want to make sure I’m not carrying some Were STD I’m not aware of.”

 

All traces of laughter dissolve, and Boyd fixes him with a sneer that stops him in his tracks. “I should knock you flat on your ass.”

 

“You could try.”

 

For a second Boyd looks like he might do it, but then he sets the glass down on the counter. “I’ll tell you this once, good and loud. Don’t be a dick. Don’t destroy what Stiles feels for you. Don’t fuck up what you have.”

 

“I’m asking simple questions.”

 

“Not the right ones.” Boyd shoves the damp rag against Derek’s chest before heading for the door. “Finish prep on your own.”

 

_________________________

 

Derek doesn’t stay for happy hour, he calls Paige instead.

 

A half hour later he’s eating a spectacularly greasy chicken parmesan sandwich while Paige laughs her way through the re-telling of her intern flooding the women’s bathroom. With her, everything is simple and easy. He feels like he fits into his skin; he doesn’t feel like a stranger.

 

_________________________

 

 

When Derek gets in it’s a little after eleven, he’s surprised to see the television on. He’s not expecting anyone to be up. Stiles is laying on the sectional in the living room. He looks like a burrito, wrapped up the way he is. The coffee table in front of him is littered with candy wrappers and there’s a half empty bowl of popcorn on the ground.  

 

Derek drops his keys on the kitchen counter and Stiles pops up like a gopher.  His hair is sticking up in the back and he’s got on thin, wire framed glasses. “Hey! How was therapy?”

 

“Good.” He didn’t go but Stiles doesn’t need to know that. “Leo?”

 

“Milk drunk, put him down two hours ago.” He yawns wide enough that Derek can see his molars. “You hungry? There’s shepherd’s pie on the stove, Melissa was over.”

 

“I grabbed a sandwich after work.” That’s not a lie exactly. “What are you watching?”

 

“Wrong Turn 6.”

 

The girl on the screen drops to the floor, blood pooling beneath her as she screams hysterically.

 

“Horror movie?”

 

Stiles nods, burrowing back under the blankets he’s dragged downstairs with him. “But this is the horror that doesn’t really count as horror because it’s just so bad. Like the blonde? Totally going to die and somehow be naked while being murdered. B-Horror trifecta.”

 

“You enjoy movies like this?”

 

“You do too, all the better to cuddle with.”

 

Derek takes the remote and pauses the movie.

 

Stiles gives him a look of confusion. “What?”

 

Derek stands there awkwardly. He doesn’t want to have this conversation but it’s strange not to. He knows Stiles remembers, it’s the elephant in the room.

 

“We never talked about that night, with Parrish.”

 

The frown deepens and Derek wonders how Stiles manages to always look so naive. “Nothing I want to say on it.”

 

“I have questions.”

 

“About me ‘getting around’?”

 

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

 

Stiles eyes drop to his lap, there’s a tick in his jaw. Derek’s been around Stiles long enough to know when he’s angry. “Why did you?”

 

“I don’t know.” Derek lies, it’s his default setting lately.  “I may not be able to sense my Were but having another alpha in my house set me off. It’s disrespectful. He shouldn’t have been here.”

 

“I’m waiting on an actual apology.”

 

“He wants you.” Derek says instead. “I can tell.”

 

“Jordan is a _friend_.”

 

“He wants more.” Derek repeats. “And encouraging him—”

 

“ _Encouraging_ him? By asking him to dinner with my husband sitting two fucking feet away?” Stiles shoots to his feet, dropping the blankets as he does. He’s pissed, red creeping up his neck. “I am so sick of your macho _bullshit_ attitude! I wasn’t a virgin when we met, and I’m not going to apologize for that. I don’t need to, but I don’t fuck around on my husband.”

 

“And by husband you mean me.” It’s time to stop avoiding it. “I may not know what the hell happened in the span of ten years but I know myself. I wouldn’t have been ok with you and other people.”

 

“You’re a dick.”

 

Derek grabs him by the arm when he tries to walk past. “Don’t walk away from me.”

 

“What, Derek? What? _What_ the fuck do you want from me?”

 

“I don’t...” Derek falters, he can’t seem to stop the words even though he knows he isn’t ready for what they might mean. “Don’t see him.”

 

Some of the anger melts to bafflement. “What is wrong with you?”

 

“I don’t have any right to ask it of you…but don’t.”

 

“I’m here, with you, every day, even when you treat me like I’m the fucking help! I’m _committed_ , Derek, still committed. You’re the one who refuses to accept it.” Stiles inhales sharply, closes his eyes. “One day, you’re going to remember us, and you’re going to remember _everything_ you’ve said to me and hate yourself for it.”

 

Thing is, Derek knows that. Stiles is the one who has kept order in his life. He’s consistent and forgiving. Derek should be grateful, he knows he should be, but he resents it. He wants his life back, the way he remembers it.  He wants to go see Laura and his niece and nephew. He wants Peter to keep him up with boring talk of the horse races. And every time he feels that way, guilt hits him.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Stiles snorts in disbelief.

 

“I _am_.” Derek repeats., trying to put it into words. “I know you want me to be him but..”

 

Stiles’ cheeks are blotchy red, his hands clenched into fists at his side. It hits Derek then that he doesn’t want to hurt him.

 

“You can hug me.” Derek feels like an idiot as soon as the words leave his mouth. “If you want.”

 

Stiles laughs softly in bewilderment, he doesn’t move, just looks at Derek like he’s searching for something; more likely someone.  Derek remembers how devastated he was, waking up and being told his family was gone. For the first time, he wonders how Stiles feels in all this.

 

The look on the Other Stiles face that night, how soft and open he’d been; Stiles loved him.

 

“I’m sorry he’s gone.”

 

A broken sob falls from Stiles lips at those words and his hand covers his mouth as if to keep it there. And then he moves, arms winding around him before he faceplants into his chest. Derek catches him with an oomph, hands lifting around him gingerly. Derek can appreciate that he’s grieving, mourning the loss of someone who’s still there.

_________________________

 

The first year they were together, Stiles convinced Derek to stop living in a burned-out shell of a house --because that what crazy people do, Derek-- and they went apartment hunting. The loft in the Covington high-rise was the first place they looked at, Derek stepped inside and didn’t look past the kitchen before asking the delighted broker where to sign.  Seven months later, Stiles moved in. It made sense; his father was constantly bitching about their relationship and Derek’s place was big, was home to a flat-screen the size of a human and a bitch free zone.  

 

The honeymoon phase had been soul melting sex and sleeping in till noon only to be woken up to honey drenched waffles and bacon. Derek was the early riser of the two of them, scouring the web for commercial spaces before Stiles even rolled over and noticed he was out of bed.

 

Ten years has left Stiles spoiled. Even with Leo, Derek would get him when he cried, leaving Stiles to nurse as he drifted in and out of sleep. Then Derek would burp Leo, do anything else that needed to be done, all while Stiles was blissfully unaware.

 

Those days are long gone.

 

Not for the first time, Stiles wakes to the reedy wails of his pup crying.  Sleep evaporates and he sits up, pushing aside the quilted comforter and very nearly breaking his face when he trips over the blankets that have fallen to the floor. He’s so used to sleeping next to Derek, the human furnace, that he’s freezing at night without him.

 

Last night had been especially hard.

 

The door to Leo’s nursery is open, as always. His cries have tapered off as Stiles’ scent gets stronger and by the time Stiles leans over his crib, he’s sour-faced, mouth turned down in a scowl. Just like his Father.

 

“Sorry I’m late, sir.” Stiles says down at him, heart expanding when Leo’s chubby fingers grip his and the surliness melts away. He lifts his son up, scenting him on instinct and laughing when Leo instantly rubs his face against Stiles’ neck and his hands move over his stubble. Werewolves are so tactile and it still catches him off-guard.

 

“Did you have sweet dreams, pup? I know you were all like, why am I in my crib’ this morning. I missed my snugglie buddy too but Lydia says it’s good for you.”

 

Leo gurgles in response, laying his head down on Stiles’ shoulder. He’s not wet but Stiles changes him quickly anyway, keeping a running commentary with his son. Even at five months, Leo likes to feel like a part of the conversation, sometimes speaking gibberish chatter that never fails to make him laugh.

 

Stiles goes downstairs. Once at the lower level he sets Leo’s down on his play mat with a few plastic toys while he gets started on breakfast. Ten minutes later when the smell of fresh brewed coffee, eggs and bacon fills the house, Stiles hears the thud of Derek’s footsteps, followed by Leo’s excited squeal.

 

It’s incredibly awkward.

 

“Morning.” Derek gets out around a yawn; his hair is smashed to one side and he has pillow creases on his cheek. Stiles’ stomach fills with butterflies. Fuck, why won’t it die. “Kid was chewing on the end table.”

 

Leo smiles proudly, gnawing at the corner of Derek’s shirt.

 

“Teething.”

 

Derek fixes himself a cup of coffee and sits down at the table with a plate. “His incisors are coming in.”

 

“Joy of joys.” Stiles lifts Leo up on to his lap before unbuttoning his shirt. Leo latches on, turning into Stiles’ chest to splay his little fingers over his pec. Stiles catches his foot, running his index finger over his little toes. “He hasn’t bit me yet, knock on wood.”

 

The awkwardness looms over them and Stiles is so tense he feels like he’ll snap. How do you have breakfast after crying like a baby all over your husband who doesn’t remember you because you want him to remember you? Oh, and accuses you of trying to hook up with coworkers even though he doesn’t want you himself? You don’t.

 

Leo’s not nursing, more like using his nipple like a pacifier but when Stiles tries to get up he gives a warning wail of displeasure, eyes brimming with tears.

 

Stiles sits there and tries not to think of the stack of boxes still unopened in the bedroom.

 

“Were you going to tell me about thanksgiving?”

 

“Boyd told you?”

 

“Were you going to?”

 

“No.” Stiles admits. “Because it’s been moved…to my father’s house.”

 

Derek doesn’t say a word, cutting his egg white omelet into small, precise pieces.

 

“You don’t have to go, you know.”

 

“You’d stay here?”

 

“I already told my father Leo and I would be there.”

 

Derek’s jaw clenches. “Then I’ll go.”

 

_______________________________

 

The brick and grey paneled house they pull into doesn’t look familiar. When Derek thinks of the Sheriff’s house, he remembers a dingy one story near the trailer parks. This house isn’t much better but it’s an improvement.

 

The door opens as soon as Stiles steps unto the battered welcome mat.

 

The Sheriff must have been waiting at the window.

 

“Happy Thanksgiving!” John pulls Stiles into a tight hug, eyes closing as he squeezes his son. He’s got on an obnoxious green sweater, brown turkey emblazoned on the front. It matches the hideous one Stiles came down in earlier. “I’m glad you made it. Where’s your turkey?”

 

“Got it dry cleaned and Leo peed all over me when I was changing his diaper. I had to find something else to wear.” Stiles pushes back, keeping an arm around his father so Leo can see his grandfather’s face.  “But he has his turkey on.” Stiles hands Leo over to John. Leo doesn’t seem impressed, focused on the cooling gel ring he’s been gnawing on all morning. “I think he has my personality.”

 

“Oh boy.” John says, “Then you’re in for it.” He looks at Derek and his smile is noticeably cooler. “Both of you. How have you been, Derek?”

 

“Fine.” Derek replies stiffly, trying and failing not to think of the last time he spoke to the Sheriff. However, the text messages Derek’s read on his phone show that even with their history, Derek and John had once found a way to be cordial. “We brought champagne.”

 

The way John looks at the three hundred-dollar bottle, you’d think it was a bucket of piss. “Dinner’s not yet ready so everyone is in the den.”

 

Stiles wanders into the kitchen, leaving Derek and John alone in the hallway.  He calls out to them. “You have any orange juice?”

 

“And by that you mean Hi-C. Melissa stocked up in advance.”

 

Stiles claps enthusiastically. “Ladies and gentlemen, my amazing father!”

 

Derek stands there awkwardly. He can hear Boyd’s deep voice over Scott’s spastic one.

 

“Thank you, Derek, for coming.” John looks him in the eyes, probably trying to show he’s sincere.  He’s not fooling anyone. “I know it couldn’t have been easy but it…I really appreciate it, having my son and grandson here today.”

 

Forcing himself not to shake off the other man’s hand, Derek nods stiffly. “Stiles wanted to be here.”

 

“We’ve had our differences but I hope we can wipe the slate clean.”

 

“That depends on you, John.”

 

When Derek walks into the den, everyone is wearing hideous turkey sweaters.

 

_______________________________

 

Stiles has shut down a buffet or a dozen in his lifetime, and he may or may not be banned from the Golden Corral on Tanner street, so he never thinks there’s too much food, but there’s too much food. The dinner table is packed. Even though there’s nearly a dozen of them, Stiles thinks they’ll be eating leftovers for a month. Melissa is huge on thanksgiving and goes all out each year but this year is over the top by even her standards. There’s roasted duck and a roasted turkey, a ham glazed in sweet cherry and pineapple, mashed potatoes, gravy, baked macaroni and cheese, lasagna and green bean casserole. Erica’s made sweet cream rolls and cranberry sauce, sausage stuffing and sautéed asparagus. That’s not even counting the dessert table, which is calling his name.

 

In the middle of his family and friends, with the loud laughter and talking; it almost feels like normal. Stiles can pretend. Leo is seated on Stiles’ lap, eyes big and fingers grabbing at anything he can reach. Stiles scoops mashed potatoes into his mouth and he loves it, twisting in his lap to give a gummy grin of approval. He gets impatient quickly, gripping Stiles’ hand with both of his little ones and trying to steer the fork to his mouth faster.

 

“Stiles!” Melissa admonishes as she takes her seat. “We say our thanks before we eat.”

 

“My porker didn’t get the message.” Stiles makes a lackluster attempt to stop feeding Leo and his son freezes, bewildered, before he screws his face up and shrieks.

 

“Okay, okay.” Melissa concedes. “I’ll start, he can eat; it’s his first year here, so I’ll give him a pass.” She smiles at them sweetly, before covering his father’s hand with her own. It’s still strange to know that they’re involved in that way. “I’m thankful for all the faces I see around the table today. Each one of you are so special to me.”

 

Scoot groans when she tears up. “Mom, _every_ _year_?”

 

“That’s my cue to wrap up.” Melissa looks at Derek. “But I do have to say that I’m especially thankful for you, Derek. A few months ago, we won’t sure if you’d be able to open your eyes, much less sit down and have thanksgiving dinner with us. It’s miraculous, and we’re all so happy you’re here.”

 

For his part, Derek look uncomfortable but he nods and smiles just the same. Stiles figures his emotional rages are saved specially for him.

 

“Who’s saying grace?” Melissa pretends to think, humming exaggeratedly. “Hm, I seem to remember some rather big promises from a certain someone...”

 

Erica smirks, smoothing down her daughter’s curly hair. “Issie’s been practicing.”

 

“Isla?”

 

The little girl purses her lips and clears her throat. “Good food, good meat, good God, let’s eat!”

 

The table erupts into laughter and Boyd looks mildly embarrassed as Erica cackles in approval.

 

“That’s not what we rehearsed.” Boyd adds. “We had an entire thing--”

 

“Good enough!”

 

Stiles graciously passes the salad Melissa’s way and goes straight for the rolls and sausage gravy. If he could bath in this stuff he would, it’s that damn good.

 

“Melissa,” Derek says over the chatter. “I’ve got the Siracha.”

 

The table goes completely quiet.

 

Derek either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He continues to hold out the bottle to the stunned woman. Melissa recovers before anyone else does. She takes the hot sauce and squirts a liberal amount over her garden salad.

 

“Really?” Scott says when his mother doesn’t go beyond a thank you. “ _Really_?”

 

“What?” Derek glares at him.

 

“You remember hot sauce, of all things?”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“You know my mom puts Siracha on her salad. Who does that?” Scott elaborates. “You _remembered_ that.”

 

Derek’s expression is not unlike a cornered animal.

 

_______________________________

Paige is in the parking lot when Derek pulls into the reserve, leaning against her silver Mercedes. She’s dressed for a hike, black tights, heavy boots and a fleece. Her dark hair is loose, falling over her shoulders. She’s on the phone and she doesn’t look happy with whoever she’s talking to.

 

She smiles brightly when he climbs out of the car and ends the conversation abruptly.

 

“Sorry, work.” She slides the phone into her back pocket. “I didn’t think you’d make it.”

 

“I said I’d be here.”

 

“But after your fainting--”

 

“I passed out.” Derek corrects. It’s embarrassing to be weak. “High blood pressure, it was nothing really. How’d you hear about it?”

 

“Small town.” Paige heads for the start of the lupine trail, pulling her hair into ponytail as she does. “What had you so worked up before you fainted?”

 

“Passed out.” Fainting is something southern belles and ingenues do. “It was the middle of the night.”

 

“And?”

 

“I was thinking about stuff.”

 

“Like?”

 

“Nothing really.”

 

“Ah.” Paige turns away and opens her car trunk. She pulls out a small backpack. “You mean trying to remember.”

 

Derek begins to deny it but then stops. Was he trying to remember? Was the hallucination something that may have happened? The way the other Stiles spoke and moved, like he was not alone in whatever world he beamed down from…It did seem like he was watching a play.

 

“I don’t know, maybe.”

 

“You mind if I ask what?”

 

It’s weird but he does. “Moving into the house, and uh, Stiles was sick at some point in the bathroom.”

 

Paige reaches into a small cooler, and starts shoving in water bottles and protein bars into the back pack.

 

“You think it means anything?” Derek finally asks when she says nothing. He feels like he can talk to her freely.

 

“I think you should take it easy because you wound up in the hospital.” Paige says after a moment. She shuts the trunk and give him a wide smile. “Now let’s go, losing daylight. You think you have it in you to do ten miles? Not too stuffed from thanksgiving?”

 

“As long as we don’t run.”

 

They pass the first leg of the trail in relative silence, listening to the sound of the wind filtering through the trees and the stray bird calls. It should be peaceful but Derek feels restless. Before he’d get in a full shift, feel the fresh earth beneath his paws and fly through the miles. He feels the loss like a missing limb.

 

Paige tosses him a bottle of water when they stop for a breather near mile three.  They’re not running but it’s been gearing up to a jog. Derek drains it in one go.

 

“Out of shape, old man?” She waggles her brows and does a decent impression of an evil cackle. “My how the tables have turned.”

 

“I’m still recovering, otherwise, I’d be on all fours running circles around you.”

 

“Ha! Remember when we went to Vermont? You were begging for mercy and I hadn’t even broken a sweat.”

 

“I was also carrying your unnecessary four room tent and ‘necessary; supplies.”

 

“I had to have my Arizona Iced Tea.”

 

“A gallon?”

 

“You were a good sport.”

 

Derek grins. He’d been furious, driving the stakes angrily into the ground while Paige obliviously rattled on about the setting sun. She’s always been good like that, with words. Eventually, he’d forgiven her, curled up in the massive tent, under the crisp sky full of stars.

 

“Never knew tents could have a skylight.”

 

“ _Luxury_ camping.” She tosses him another bottle of water. “Still use it.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Course.” Paige bumps her shoulder against his, setting the pace as they start walking once more. “I wasn’t lying when I said I fell in love with it.”

 

“I thought you were pretending. For me.”

 

“Ok, big ego.” She laughs. “We should go sometime, if you want, for old time’s sake.”

 

“Uh, sure.”

 

“Although, it would be harder to explain a weekend away to Stiles.” She giggles at his alarmed expression. “It’s obvious he doesn’t know we’re meeting.”

 

Derek scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “It never really came up.”

 

“Why do you want to hang out with me?”

 

“Because.” Derek starts, then stops, not sure of the answer. “Because it’s fun.”

 

“Fun?” Her eyes are bright, smile teasing. “That’s it?”

 

It’s dangerous, whatever flickering between them is building.

 

“You treat me like the person I am now. I can’t really explain it.”

 

“Relax, I get it. Besides, I like the person you are now.” She tosses her empty water bottle into the trash bin and gives Derek another one. “Drink up.”

 

Derek drinks the entire bottle as she watches.

 

When he’s finished, she takes off down the trail at a sprint. She yells behind her. “Race you to the car!”

_________________________

 

They’ve been sitting in silence for the past fifteen minutes. 

 

Derek has been glaring down at the blank piece of paper Dr. Morrel placed in front of him shortly after his arrival. It’s too damn cold in her office and the seat is too soft, he feels like he’s sinking.

 

“How are you doing on that list?”

 

Like she isn’t completely aware that he’s written nothing.

 

She wants him to write down everything he remembered prior to his black out. Derek can’t do that. She would have him committed with a click of her expensive heels. So, Derek instead has sat there, staring at the dull tip of the pencil mocking him as his time winds down.

 

“Nothing?”

 

“I don’t remember.” Derek repeats stubbornly. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

 

“How about what happened that morning?”

 

“Is my insurance paying for these sessions?”

 

Dr. Morrell is not phased. “Derek, therapy is only as effective as you make it. If you come here to go through the motions, then you’re going to get that back. I can’t help you unless you’re honest with me.”

 

“You’ll think I’m crazy.”

 

“I don’t pass judgment.”

 

Derek opens his mouth.

 

Then closes it, he can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

 

Dr. Morrel slides the paper forward. “Write it down.”

 

Derek writes.

 

  1. There was someone in the house, the noise woke me.
  2. Stiles was downstairs
  3. He didn’t look like Stiles
  4. I woke up in the hospital



 

 

Derek watches her face carefully when she reads the piece of paper. She doesn’t react, not visibly. He supposes she’s trained to do that.  Stay calm and collected while hitting the panic button that’s hidden beneath her desk.

 

She nods, like the list makes sense then tears it into pieces.

 

“Why’d you do that?”

 

“What’s your idea of a perfect date?"

 

The change of topic gives him whiplash. “Are you hitting on me?”

 

“We talk about the person you were and now I want to speak on who you are. So, Derek, sitting here today, what is something you’d like to do on a date?”

 

The last date he remembers was out near Stonewater Park. They’d gone hiking, swimming in the evening and drank spiced rum as the sun set over the highest peaks of the beacon mountains. Paige’s skylight hadn’t been so bad when the sky was a sea of stars and they could watch them together.

 

“Derek?”

 

“I like camping, running, whitewater rafting, anything outdoors.”

 

“Have you tried doing that with your husband? Spending time doing things you enjoy?”

 

“Stiles doesn’t run anywhere unless it’s by pressing ‘x.’”

 

“Here’s your first homework assignment: spend a day together.”

 

“We do that already.”

 

Dr. Morrel arches a brow. “Stiles is at the high school during the day and you work late at your bar.”

 

“So?”

 

“This Saturday; spend it with Stiles. Ask him about the things you used to do. Explore the person you were.”

 

“Why does no one care about the person I am now?”

 

“Is that how it feels to you?”

 

The timer goes off, and Derek’s free to leave. He does.

_________________________

 

There are six cars in the driveway when Derek pulls into the garage.

 

“Taco Tuesday.” Stiles greets with a mouth full of ground beef and cheese when Derek walks into the kitchen. He’s wearing Derek’s clothes again, black sweatpants and a burgundy Henley he’d thrown into the hamper after sleeping in. They’re big on Stiles’ wiry frame. “You have to try Lydia’s guacamole before Scott eats it all.”

 

“Just a recipe I picked up in Cozumel.” Lydia preens on the bar stool. Her white lab coat is draped over the living room couch but she’s kicked off her heels and the sleeves of her silk blouse are rolled up to her elbow. “I do what I can.”

 

“I wish I could travel.” Scott whines. He does have guacamole on his chin. “Closest I’ve been to Mexico is Taco Bell.”

 

“Come with me to Brazil as my kept boy.”

 

“Derek!” Stiles pleads. “Eat a taco, don’t partake in the chimichanga deception.”

 

The mastermind of the deception is apparently Erica, who’s pan frying over stuffed burritos at the stove. Kira is with her, another friend of Stiles’ he’s met briefly in the supermarket.

 

“I ate before I came.” Derek says to the groans and boos of his pack. “Maybe later.”

 

His pack.

 

It feels weird to think of them that way, but it also feels right. Dr. Morrel had told him to give in just for a few days, to accept his environment. So, Derek will. He may even have a taco.

 

There’s a patterned blanket spread in front of the television for the kids, Derek plops down next to the children. Leo is dressed for bed in a yellow sleeper sitting on the floor close to Isla-- who’s too preoccupied with a handheld game and Kira’s sons Mason and Jake to pay him much attention-- staring up at her in awe the way babies seem to do when they see other kids. Derek bends down to kiss him, and Leo vibrates with energy when he catches scent of him, chubby fingers grabbing him when he moves away.

 

Derek lets Leo nose at his neck and chest, fingers moving along his small back as he does. He mourns the loss of being able to fully communicate with his son but he does the best he can. He can see that Leo gets frustrated sometimes, when Derek isn’t in tune with his needs or can’t sense when he needs to be calmed. Derek’s own father would often carry him by the scruff of his neck at this age, and Derek felt safest then; with the wet earth moving beneath them and his father’s unbreakable hold keeping him safe. He’d like to be able to give that to his son too. Hopefully, he can one day. Soon.

 

When Derek tries to put Leo back on the blanket, he gets a shock when Leo bites down on his shoulder, his tiny fangs feel like pinpricks but they still draw blood. Jerking back in surprise, Derek holds his son out in front of him in awe.

 

Peeking through his dark curls, are the tips of newly elongated velvet ears.

 

Lycan ears.

 

“Leo.”

 

Leo tilts his head, ears twitching.

 

“You’re a wonderful little alpha.”

 

Leo sneezes and the partial shift vanishes.

 

Pride expands in his chest.

 

“Hey! Room for one more?”

 

That’s Isaac’s voice.

 

Derek turns around, blinks hard, but this isn’t a hallucination. Isaac is standing at the entry of the kitchen, older, taller and carrying a blonde toddler in one hand and a case of beer in the other. His clothes are beige and expensive, a far cry from the tattered jeans, flannel and bruises.

 

Shit.

 

Derek’s crossing the living room to envelope him in a hug before he can even think it through. Isaac laughs and thumps him on the back. He’s saying how good it is to see him and how worried they all were, but it’s all a blur.

 

Half an hour later and four tacos later, Derek learns the toddler is Isaac’s youngest child, Andrew. He’d been in Italy for the past couple of months, doing some modeling while Jackson worked on a real estate deal for a couple’s resort. Jackson and his older boys come in a few minutes after Isaac and it quickly gets a bit awkward. Everyone must feel it but no one says anything. Lydia’s smile is tight and she leaves shortly after his arrival.

 

“It’s a trip, man.” Isaac says later as he watches where Andrew is currently holding out a soft teddy bear to a unenthusiastic Leo. “Our kids together.”

 

“You _married_ Jackson Whittemore.”

 

“ _You_ got amnesia on your way to the grocery store.”

 

Derek chuckles. “Ok, I win at weird.”

 

Isaac grins and piles on more shredded cheese to his cold chimichanga. “You definitely do, besides, you like Jackson.”

 

“I did?”

 

“You _do_. We grew up after the alpha pack, closer. An attack like that puts things into perspective.”

 

“What about Lydia? You broke up Barbie and Ken.”

 

Some of the amusement leaves. “I took a chance and when Jack felt the same….” Isaac drifts off. “You don’t walk away from that.”

 

“That’s… shitty of you.”

 

“It was a shit situation.” Isaac lowers his voice, glancing outside to where Jackson is speaking to Boyd on the deck. Jackson is trying to sell Boyd on something, he’s got his shit eating pitch smile on. “Still is hard, on her, and on Jack. It’s why we stay away.”

 

“Did you always have thing for him?”

 

“Honestly? Yeah.” Isaac nudges him with his foot. “Like you and Stiles.”

 

“No way in hell I carried a flame for Stilinski.”

 

“Maybe not at first, but later? You were a love-sick puppy.”

 

Derek grimaces, and grabs a beer and gulps it down. “So, I keep hearing.”

 

“Best memory: you were so amped about your first Valentine’s Day.Stiles told you to keep it low key and you attempted to cook him dinner. This was before you were good at it. Anyway, you cross contaminated the chicken in the chicken parmesan or something because Stiles spent half the night bent over the toilet and the other half in the emergency room.”

 

“What?”

 

“Foxes are sensitive!” Isaac is doubled over with laughter. “But your debacle with the mascot, takes the cake. You had fur in your teeth for _weeks_.”

 

Derek’s phone vibrates and he checks the message.        

 

“Who’s that?” Isaac asks.

 

PK: Weather is nice this weekend, Pineland trail?”

 

“No one.”

 

“Ok, James Bond.” Isaac gets up off the couch. “I’m going to get another beer, want one?”

 

“Sure.”

 

From across the room, Derek can hear Stiles in the kitchen. He’s telling a story about a student, Michael, who apparently has a thing for miming blowjobs at him every time he turns his back. Except, Stiles had called the boy’s parents in for a conference to discuss the constant disruption. His folks arrived early and witnessed the blowjob of a banana first hand. The father, a mild-mannered mouse had turned bright red.

 

“He’s half way down the banana—”

 

“Skin on or off?” Erica demands plating her third batch of treacherous chimichangas and grating cheese on the golden-brown tops.

 

“Off!” Stiles is doubled over in laughter now. “Kid’s no amateur. Anyway, his father is choking, I mean, choking on his spit!”

 

Everyone starts to laugh, and Derek doesn’t think the story that funny but he’s seen the opened tequila bottles when he came in.

 

Stiles is grinning, sour cream all over his hands and chin from his crumbling taco. The light must hit him the right way, or something, because Derek’s stomach does a _thing_. He can see it, what may have drawn him to Stiles a decade ago.

 

Music starts to play through the house’s surround sound and Isaac reappears doing a funky imitation of dancing.  Buddy Holly by Weezer. Andrew gets up and joins in.

 

“What’s with these homies dissin’ my girl, we do they gotta front?” Isaac sings down to Andrew, taking his hands. Leo watches the entire exchange, eyes growing frantic. He’s probably overwhelmed.

 

Before Derek can pick him up, Stiles is a step ahead. He lifts Leo and starts to dance with him too. The impending distress fades and Leo grips Stiles ears as Stiles bounces him up and down to the beat. The other kids soon join, hopping around for attention when the adults encourage them.

 

From the couch, Derek watches them, they look ridiculous. They look happy. Stiles is laughing, mouth opening and pulling funny faces for Leo as they spin around with Isla. Leo is shrieking, thrilled with the chaos now.

 

“No one sits out a dance off.” Boyd pulls him to his feet. “Isla, come get the defector.”

 

You can’t turn down a dance from a five year old without being a complete asshole.

 

Derek gets to his feet and does an awkward shuffle, painfully aware of Jackson’s laughter and Erica recording the entire thing. Isla play up for her mom, shaking her hips and jumping. Derek twirls her around and gives her a little dip. When he does he meets Stiles gaze over her head.  Stiles is giving him that look, the one he saw on their wedding video.

_Woo-hoo, but you know I'm yours_

_  
Woo-hoo, and I know you're mine_

__  
Woo-hoo, and that's for all time  


It may be the beer, or it may be the guilt but Derek hands Isla off to her dad and holds out a hand to him. Stiles grins, and takes it, Leo between them. They’re not dancing but they’re not standing still either. Stiles’ eyes a bright, pupils dilated and Derek knows he’s pumped two bottles for Leo so he could drink tonight.

 

Slightly buzzed Stiles is tactile and has no rhythm. It’s hilarious. Derek doesn’t understand most of the stuff he’s saying but he likes the way he’s saying it. He’s fun when he’s relaxed. He also seems to like to rubbing against him, which surprisingly, Derek doesn’t mind. He may not be able to scent him, but he likes the clean fragrance of his after shave, the way his hair tickles the bottom of Derek’s chin. Derek likes that he can overwhelm him, that he’s broad where Stiles is lean.

 

 _Buddy Holly_ tapers off into _Push it_ , then into a faster song Derek doesn’t recognize.

 

“A little loose in the hips, huh?” Stiles asks, licking his lips. “I like it.”

 

“Are you drunk?” Time to take Leo. Thankfully, the baby goes to him easily, Leo too excited to be clingy. “Want some water?”

 

“I want something alright.” Stiles mumbles, he stretches and does a failed Michael Jackson-esque spin when the beginning riff of _Smooth Criminal_ starts to play.  Derek watches the smooth skin of his midriff where the hem of shirt has flipped up; pale and soft looking, he wants to sink his teeth into it. “Isaac’s play list is seriously schizophrenic.”

 

“You seem to like it.”

 

“Wrong.” Stiles sways close, and his breath stinks of ground beef. Derek should be disgusted. He’s not. “I like dancing with you.”

 

They’re being watched, Derek doesn’t need his senses to notice the covert stares.  He doesn’t protest when Stiles’ finger slips through his belt loop and tugs him closer. Stiles isn’t be as drunk as he’s acting and Derek’s only had three beers, one of which was laced for Weres.  What’s the harm in pretending?

 

Careful of Leo, Derek untangles Stiles hands from around him and lifts his chin up. “What are you doing Saturday?”

 

_________________________

 

“Where are you taking me?”

 

“Do I have to remind you of the definition of ‘surprise’?”

 

The surprise turns out to be mediocre. Derek groans when they park outside of a huge grey building. The aqua accents and painted on sea creatures give it away. The Aquarium.

 

“Don’t be a sour wolf.” Stiles chides as he joyfully hops out of the car. He’s dressed similarly to Derek in dark jeans and button down. He snaps Leo into his stroller and hurries towards the doors, as excited as the kids milling around the sidewalk. “C’mon!”

 

It’s fun in a cheesy way. He begins to understand why Stiles chose the place. Leo is loving it. He soaks it all in. He’s active and engaged, eyes wide as if he doesn’t want to miss a single thing.  They get many admiring smiles from a group of old women when Leo shrieks with delight, he looks especially adorable in his blue baseball cap and stripped playsuit. He doesn’t shrink away from the gigantic shark when it swims right up to the glass, jagged teeth gleaming. Leo giggles and clutches Stiles, expression awed. Derek snaps a few pictures of them on his phone and Stiles acts like he won a Grammy.

 

They’re getting ready to leave, Derek fiddling with his phone while Stiles straps an unwilling Leo back into the stroller. Laughter gets his attention.

 

An older couple is standing near the touch tank, the man’s lip is curled back in a sneer and he’s speaking lowly to his companion. She glances over at them and giggles, swatting his arm until the sneer melts into a smile that’s just as insulting.

 

They’re talking about them.

 

Although Derek can’t hear what they’re saying because his senses are neutered, he knows they are. They laugh again, louder this time.

 

Anger rising, Derek takes a step in their direction.

 

“Ignore them.” Stiles stops him with a whisper, he’s pale. “It’s fine.”

 

It’s not.

 

His expression is tense, flush at the back of his neck. He’d been so happy before and those random assholes took it away.

 

“What are they saying?” Derek demands.

 

“The usual shit.” Stiles gives up trying to force Leo in and hefts him up on his hip; with his free hand he grabs the stroller handle to push it forward. “We should get a souvenir before we go; I saw an awesome stuffed shark on the way in.”

 

“ _What_ are they saying.”

 

“Derek, let it go.”

 

“Either you tell me or I go over there and punch it out of him.”

 

“They’re wondering if you have any self- respect.” Stiles says quietly, voice devoid of any emotion. “The man said you’re a pathetic alpha for willingly fucking a fox.”

 

Derek growls, rage making him see red.

 

“Don’t!”

 

“Stiles, they can’t—”

 

“They can and they did, but what those bigots think have nothing to do with our family, okay? Today is my day, right?”

 

Derek doesn’t respond.

 

“Derek, please?”

 

It’s not in his nature to walk away, but Stiles expression makes him yield.

 

The walk to the parking lot is much more subdued than the walk in. They both get into the car and sit there in silence. Leo is crying.

 

“I’m not letting those idiots ruin the rest of the day.” Stiles is clenching the steering wheel hard enough that the whites of his knuckles appear. “I’m not.”

 

Derek doesn’t respond.

 

“We’re going to have fun.” Stiles claps his hands decisively. “ Okay. Next, yogurt! Frozen yogurt time.”

 

Stiles turns the radio to soft rock, which is a welcome change to the pop that made his ears bleed on the way to the aquarium and they drive on. The yogurt place is crowded, mostly with teenagers and Derek cringes at the thought of joining them.

 

But he did tell Stiles he’d do what he wanted.

 

As soon as they step into the store, the cashier calls Stiles by name. He is completely unashamed of this. Despite being a regular, Stiles wanders over to every flavor and fills a sample size cup of each.

 

“That’s it.” Stiles looks at his cup in disgust when he’s finished his twelfth sample. “Coconut shreds and strawberry jam? Vanilla?! Derek, can you be more boring?”

 

Stiles thrusts his cup under Derek’s nose. It’s piled high with crushed Oreos, caramel sauce, cherries, hot fudge, whipped cream, m&ms and little peanut butter cups. The creation is weighed at the register and comes out to over 12 dollars compared to Derek’s three. Stiles is immensely pleased.

 

“You’re going to have a heart attack.”

 

“What a way to go.” Stiles scoops some chocolate ice cream into Leo’s open mouth. Their son coos his approval, smacking his lips together. “Ooo! He likes it Derek.”

 

“Don’t give him that shit.”

 

“Run, Leo! Daddy’s trying to ruin your childhood.”

 

They get a seat by the window, and Stiles reaches into the diaper bag for a patterned receiving blanket.  While Stiles breastfeeds Leo, Derek glares at all the people around them, just in case someone has something smart to say. No one spares them a second glance. The couple at the aquarium may just be an unpleasant anomaly.

_________________________

 

From the corner of his eye, Stiles watches the growing confusion on Derek’s face as he veers off the main road and shifts into four-wheel drive. Derek has been asking where they’re going since Stiles dropped Leo off with Scott. They’re driving over rock and earth, the trees closing in on them from both sides until Stiles parks the car in a well-worn plot.

 

It’s never particularly busy but with the winter closing in, Stiles had been worried that they wouldn’t be alone. He’s relieved to see that there isn’t another Were around.

 

“Grab your coat.” Stiles reminds him, slipping his own red jacket on. “Gets cold.”

 

Wordlessly, Derek follows Stiles, falling into step behind him. Leaves are falling in red, brown and gold around them as the wind blows. He shivers; zipping up his hoodie as he starts up the gradual incline of the narrow trail.

Once he’s several yards away from the car, Stiles veers off the main path, heads through the thick brush, and deeper into the woods. They stop once, when Stiles can hear Derek breathing heavily, but then continue for another mile.

 

After a few more minutes of brisk walking they’re there.

 

The small overlook is the way they left it.

 

They’ve spent hours together here, in their secret spot, the little world they had carved out for themselves within the Preserve. As far as he knows, the only people who knew it existed were Derek and himself. There’s a certain kind of magic in that.

__  
_“He’s kicking like crazy.” Derek’s standing behind him, arm around Stiles, to rest against his abdomen. He rubs gently. “Means he likes it up here.”_  
  
_“I think he does.” Stiles puts his hands over Derek’s and gives his fingers a squeeze. “I also think he wants you to carry us back because there’s no way I’m getting my fat ass down this mountain.”_  
  
_Derek huffs a laugh affectionately, breath warm. “Idiot.”_

_“But you’ll carry me, right?”_

_“I carried you up here, didn’t I?”_

_Stiles hums in contentment and plays up to his wolf. “You did, alpha.”_

_“Right in my weak spot.”_

_Stiles closes his eyes, against the bright sky. He’s been thinking about his mother lately, more now that he’s carrying his own child._ __  
  
_“You think what your mom said about the moon, works the same way with the sun…?” Stiles looks at the sun, bright and heavy in the sky, sending down rays that touch his flesh like a kiss. “That they’re up there looking down on us.”_

_“I think that when you love someone. You never really leave.”_ __He presses a chaste kiss on the back of Stiles’ neck, breathing in his scent. “Sun, moon, stars…anyway that gets you there.”__  

_“You ever think of your eulogy?”_

_“No, because I’m never going to die and neither are you.”_

_“I’d want mine to be badass, you know? You’ve got to write it, and wear your leather jacket to my funeral.”_

_“You're not dying first!”_

_“Well, you're not dying first, because then I’d be without you.”_

_“That’s lame, Kit,  even for you.”_

_“I’m waiting to hear my final words, husband.”_

_  
“Of my friend, I can only say this: Of all the souls I have encountered in my travels, his was the most...” Derek takes an exaggerated breath of emotion. “Human.”_

_“Derek, you quoted The Wrath of Khan!”_

_“It’s an okay movie.”_

_“You cried when Spock died! Admit it!”_

_“Enough about death.” Derek chides. “We’re having our first baby, our son, let’s talk about life. How good it is.”_

_“You know this means his name is definitely, Leonard. Right?”_

_“Never.”_

  
  
“I know I hid matches up here.” Stiles rummages around the hollow of the tree trunk. “I know it’s this damn tree because I thought the hole looked like a vagina.”

 

“You’re going to get bit by a rabid squirrel living in there.”

 

“Aha!” Stiles closes his hands around the book of matches triumphantly. “Told you.”

 

Fifteen minutes later and Stiles has got a decent fire going. He pulls out the six pack of beer from his backpack and hands Derek one.  Although Stiles has spread a blanket big enough for the two of them, Derek’s chosen to sit across the fire. He’s quiet and Stiles wants to see him how he was the night the pack was over, uninhibited and open; open to the idea of them maybe.

 

“What are you thinking about?”

 

Derek’s back is resting against rough bark while his hands pull at the dry grass. “Did that happen a lot before?”

 

“What?”

 

“Those assholes at the aquarium.”

 

Stiles contemplates the question for a long moment, remembering each sickening moment when specists belittled him or said nasty things under their breaths. It’s never been bad, not to the point where he’s been afraid, but it’s always been a part of what being with Derek means.

 

“Sometimes.”

 

If he’s honest , the worst part is that he sometimes believes them.

 

“I ever take you to Cosmo Beach?”

 

Stiles shakes his head. Why would he. Everyone knows that only a certain type are welcomed. “I know your Dad has a summer place up there.”

 

“Paige and I went down there for a long weekend once. There are a lot of heavy breeds; bears, gators and wolves. Most haven’t even seen a human in living color.” He stops to take a drink, delay. “Anyway, we’re on the way to my Dad’s cabin but we get lost. I stop for directions at a gas station. Some gators gave us trouble, surrounded the car hollering and saying just…the evilest shit to her.  She was terrified, I could see it in her face but she never said a word. And you know what I did? I told her it wouldn’t have happened if she just agreed to the bite.”

 

Stiles stomach clenches as he imagines being in that situation like Paige was and being told it was his fault, for being who he was. It’s so different from the man he married, but Stiles isn’t surprised. Derek had been known for his superiority complex.

 

“You never said.”

 

Derek gives a self-deprecating laugh. “What kind of man am I? What kind of Alpha?”

 

“You were young.”

 

“I was old enough.” Derek says sharply. “And you know what? I didn’t even think they were wrong. That couple in the aquarium? I wouldn’t have thought they were wrong.”

 

“And now?”

 

“The way you are with Leo, the way you love him and take care of him…there’s no one else who could be better. I know what you think, Stiles, but I don’t think of you as the nanny or something.”

 

“If it helps, when I met you, you weren’t like that.”

 

“I’m ashamed I ever was.”

 

Stiles doesn’t respond, stares into the crackling fire. It’s getting late and it’s completely dark now, but he doesn’t want to leave. Outside of this place, the real world is waiting and reality is something he doesn’t want.

 

“I miss it.” Derek says. “I miss being able to shift. I miss my sister and my niece and nephew. It feels like… I can’t get past feeling like I’m living someone else’s life.”

 

“Is it that bad?” Stiles tries to joke, but his voice cracks and he ends up sounding vulnerable.

 

“No. Besides losing my Were, besides losing my family… I can see how I was happy.”

 

Stiles smiles, cursing the butterflies.

 

If Stiles had a little more to drink, if he wasn’t so afraid to disrupt the truce, he would’ve kissed Derek right then. He wants to, more than anything.

 

This place, their place, holds so many memories, but he doesn’t have the courage.

 

The firelight casts Derek’s face in shadows, his body in flickering bronze; he’s gorgeous and virile. Stiles’ body is more than aware of the alpha. But more than that, he’s been kind. He’s shown glimpses of the man Stiles fell so hard for.

 

“It was a good day, Stiles.” Derek holds his beer up in a salute across the fire. “Thanks.”

_________________________

 

The first slice of the box cutter through the tape sounds loud in the quiet room. Worried, Derek looks at Leo but he’s still fast asleep in the middle of the bed, barricaded by decorative pillows.

 

At the very top of the cardboard box is their wedding album. The leather is white, gold inscribed. Derek touches it tentatively, not surprised when his head begins to ache. He tries to focus on not trying to remember, whenever he does the pain increases.

 

So, he looks through the photos like an observer would.  He takes in vacations, kisses, parties and beaches. He watches his expression in the photograph, and the way Stiles looks at him. Even if he doesn’t feel the same, he can recognize it’s special.

 

There are DVDs near the bottom, buried under cards and other memorabilia Stiles saved. Derek puts the one titled first day home into the DVD player.

 

It’s not of Leo’s first day home. The video starts outside of the house, camera shaking a bit before the walkway comes into focus. Stiles jumps into view, waving like a maniac.

 

_“MTV Cribs, this is Casa De Hale!” Stiles gestures grandly behind him. “Welcome.”_

_“You sound stupid.” Scott grumbles._

_“Shut up.” Derek tells him, he wanders up to Stiles and drags him close for a long kiss. He pats him on the ass afterward and Stiles squeaks in indignation. “Ok, we’ll do this quick. We’ve got too much to unpack to dick around.”_

 

_“Take me!” Stiles swoons dramatically and Derek catches him, and carries him up the stairs bridal style. “ Scott make sure you get us stepping over the threshold!”_

_“I’ve got it, I’ve got it!”_

_Derek looks over his shoulder at the camera and rolls his eyes. “We’re only doing this once.”_

Derek pauses the video, the noise in his head getting louder, shrill like the ring of a teakettle. The Stiles in the house that night is wearing exactly what Stiles is in the home video. That wasn’t a hallucination. It _was_ a memory.

 

It feels like a stake is being driven through his skull, Derek turns off the television afraid to move but lurches towards the bathroom when the pain transcends to something else. He bends over the toilet, retching in harsh pulls.

 

Inky black liquid splashes against the porcelain bowl, sludge and streaks of blood.

 

Derek looks down at it in horror and then throws up again.

 

As soon as he has the strength to move, Derek picks up the house phone and dials Deaton’s number. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if there's any scene/ scenario you'd like to see


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So you ever write a bunch and then it gets deleted and you have to start all over?
> 
> Yeah. that's hell.
> 
> I tried to recreate what i lost, but i liked the original better

_________________

 

Deaton gives Derek a disapproving look when he walks into his office.

 

“Stiles didn’t come with you?”

 

“He doesn’t know.” Derek sits down, rolling stiffness out of his shoulders. The headaches are back, trying to fall asleep last night had been impossible. He had lain there in the dark, staring up at his reflection until dawn. “I don’t want to worry him.”

 

Ever the astute one, Deaton narrows his eyes. “Does he even know about your episodes?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Do you think that’s wise?”

 

“I think it’s my decision.” Derek tosses the Ziploc bag he brought on Deaton’s desk. He’d scooped some of the disgusting black slime into it.  “This is what I vomited.”

 

Deaton stares down at the bag contemplatively before snapping on latex gloves. While Derek watches, he spends several minutes looking at the sample, turning it over in his hands before extracting a tiny amount with a scalpel and placing it in a petri dish. He bends over the microscope, looking at it.

 

“Well?” Derek asks, impatient.

 

“I’ve never seen anything like this.” The frown grows as Deaton continues to observe whatever is happening beneath the scope. “Not in my field, at least.”

 

“But you have seen it before?”

 

“Not exactly but I think I’ve read about this before, or something like it.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“I’m not sure.” Turning away from the microscope, he shifts through a filing cabinet before pulling out a folder labeled with his name. Deaton looks pensively at the scans. “It doesn’t make sense. All your tests have come back normal. I’m going to contact a friend of mine, a specialist.”

 

“And where has this guy been for the past four months?”

 

“ _She_ is leading a conference in Italy. However, Dr. Gianfranco is expected to take a sabbatical. I’ll get her here if I have to call in every favor I accumulated in the medical community.”

 

“And in the mean time I just hang around with no memory, bleed to death and fill up with black slime?”

 

“Injuries, such as yours, are extremely complex. There are no straight answers. Anyway, you haven’t died yet.”

 

“That’s some bedside manner you have, Doc.”

 

“Derek, from what you’ve explained, these episodes occur when you over exert yourself; correct?”

 

“I’m not over exerting myself. They happen when I try and remember.”

 

“Which takes an immense amount of mental power. So, until Dr. Gianfranco arrives, don’t push; live in the now.”

 

_____________________

 

There’s a reason why Derek was always the guy who went shopping for Christmas presents in August. He hates the lines, the general rush and the nasty attitudes of all the procrastinators descending on the overly crowded stores. He hates being bumped and jostled from all sides, he hates how foul people get when they’re clamoring with counterfeit holiday cheer and he hates waiting in lines that never seem to end.

 

Isaac relishes the complete chaos. He’s blending right into the thick of it, reaching over an older woman to grab a watch which is tethered to the stand by a white cable. The Christmas spirit has apparently drawn a record number of shoplifters to the high-end boutique.

 

Derek wanders back over to him, holding the dyed silk scarf that caught his eye when they walked in. “You think Cora would like this?”

 

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Isaac’s studying the back of what looks like a fitness tracker intently. “Why would a seven-year old want this? What kind of weirdo would?”

 

“He’s _your_ kid.” Derek tosses the scarf into the shopping cart which already holds an ungodly amount of clothing. “You ever talk to Cora?”

 

“Sometimes, but she needs her distance to cope, I have to respect that.”

 

“She doesn’t return my calls.”

 

“Nothing?”

 

“Sent me a single text in August; said she was glad I was alive. That was it.”

 

Isaac winces in sympathy. “I don’t know man, it is what it is.”

 

“I can’t give up on her. I didn’t before, did I?”

 

“You always hoped she’d come around; even went to Seattle, back when Stiles was at NYU.”

 

“I don’t need my memory to know it didn’t go well.”

 

“She didn’t toss you out or anything, you two went for a walk, had some coffee.”

 

“What happened?’

 

Isaac shrugs. “You never said, only, you were a lot more at peace with her distance after that.”

 

Derek’s thoughts drift back to the few photos he had found of her in the box Stiles gave him.  There was one with Cora, it must have been taken after the fire, her face was bandaged, hair hanging over her brow as she leaned on his shoulder. She’d looked so painfully thin in the image, small and face lined with pain. Derek just wants to protect her, heal her. He wonders why he couldn’t.

 

“Hey, what’d you get Stiles?”

 

“For what?”

 

“For Christmas.”

 

Derek hasn’t got him anything, not that he hasn’t tried. He doesn’t know what to get him. What would be appropriate. He knows very little about the Stiles he lives with now, and even less about the one he remembers.

 

“You don’t have too long left to figure it out, buddy.”

 

“Any ideas?”

 

“ _Me_ helping _you_?” Isaac shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re the gift giving _master_. I don’t know how but you’re kick ass at getting good stuff. Last year you gave me a succulent garden, who does that? But I swear, most relaxing thing on earth.”

 

“What’s a succulent garden?”

 

Isaac laughs. “Ok, you’re anal about your lists, right? Check them. Maybe you had some ideas jotted down.”

 

“I keep lists?”

 

“All the time.”

 

“Where?”

 

“I don’t know; I’m going by what you tell me. Did you check your computer? Maybe like a hidden folder or something?”

 

The sex video immediately pops into his head and Derek can feel himself turning red.

 

“Uh-oh, I know that look. What, you saw your sex tape?”

 

“Fuck, did I tell everyone about that?”

 

A cheeky grin. “How can anyone forget how Stiles flipped his shit when he found out you didn’t delete them.”

 

“Them? There’s more than one?”

 

“Derek, _focus_. Go back to your laptop and search all the files, cause the shit Stiles has been through this year? He needs his own island or something to make up for it.”

 

“Do I have that kind of money?”

 

“You wish.” Isaac pushes him towards the jewelry section. “You should get something that matches the push present. I’m sure Mr. Venetti can do a companion piece.”

 

“Push present?”

 

“C’mon, man, this is old school stuff. Traditional alpha gift to his omega, kind of like a well done for giving me a healthy child and going through all the horrors and labor pains of pregnancy.” Isaac gapes, realization dawning when Derek stares at him blankly. “Wait… Stiles wasn’t wearing it. You never gave that to him?”

 

“I don’t…” Derek’s head gives a warning throb and he rubs his temples. “I don’t think so. What was it?”

 

“A work of art.”

 

“A straight answer would be nice.”

 

“It was a sappy, master gift giver chain, gold bar, inscribed with the first letters of your names: ‘D, S and L. I told you that DSL stands for ‘dick sucking lips’ now but--”

 

“We’re in a family store!”

 

Isaac steers them towards the checkout. “We’ll stop by the jeweler and see if you ever picked it up.”

 

_____________________

 

It turns out Derek hadn’t picked up the present. The jeweler is grateful that he’s arrives to claim it. He lifts the velvet box, beaming with pride as he shows his work. It’s stunning. Fitting. The necklace is deceptive in its simplicity but Derek knows the finer things and the ticket price doesn’t surprise him, what does is how it feels in his hand. When he touches the cool metal, it almost comes to life, warm against his skin, urging something in him to life that can’t respond.

 

“Perfect, is it not?”

 

Derek runs his thumb over their initials engraved into the gold. “Can you gift wrap it?”

 

_____________________

 

 

Rain has been falling in a steady pattern all morning. It’s grey and cold outside, morning frost melting away to sleet and forming ice. They’ve done absolutely nothing all day and Derek is surprised that he enjoys being lazy.

 

Stiles doesn’t change Leo out of his dinosaur printed pajamas after he changes him. When he comes down stairs he’s wearing a footed blue oversized onesie that makes Derek laugh. Stiles plops on the couch and formally declares this Sunday a pajama day.

 

“Open for the airplane!”

 

Wild bed head making him look like a grumpy old man, Leo stares at the spoon in Stiles hand suspiciously and Derek grins when he keeps his lips clenched shut.

 

“Hey! Open up, it’s bananas, you like bananas and I made them just for you.”

 

This time when Stiles attempts to feed him, Leo blows a raspberry sending the pureed food spraying unto Stiles’ face and shirt. At Stiles’ yelp of surprise, Leo giggles, clapping his hands on his thighs in delight.

 

Because it’s getting sad, Derek grabs the spoon and scoops a spoonful of mashed bananas into his open mouth. Leo smacks his lips happily, pulling spreading the remains on Stiles’ chest.

 

“Okay, I’ll admit it.” Stiles wipes banana off his cheek. “You’re better at that then I am.”

 

“Takes a lot of practice.”

 

Derek picks Leo up with one hand, walking into the kitchen and settling him into his bright blue high chair. Once strapped in his seat, Leo twists around to look at Stiles in the living room, tears filling his eyes predictably.

 

“None of that.” Derek tells him sternly but Leo starts to cry anyway, big fat tear drops that send Stiles running. Typical. “He’s faking it, Stiles.”

 

“Probably.” Stiles agrees but wipes away Leo’s tears anyway, smoothing his hair down with a gentle touch. “It’s okay, Papa will stay with you, baby. Yummy bananas, yummy.”

 

“You mean mama.”

 

Stiles raises a brow. “I really don’t.”

 

Because Stiles cures all their son’s ills by being in the same room, Leo eats his little bowl of bananas with gusto, and even drinks the bottle Derek’s filled with room temperature water. He read somewhere that it’s important to get cubs used to the taste of it, not just milk.

 

“You’re his mom.”

 

“We’ve been through this before; it’s weird as fuck with humans for a Dad to be a mom, like confusing and--”

 

“It’s not the same thing; not for us. You carried him—”

 

“Derek, we’ve had this conversation, and I won already. A million times.” Leo starts making grabby hands and Stiles lifts him up out of his highchair. Leo sleepily rubs his dirty face into the crook of Stiles’ neck. “Isn’t that right, my cuddly boy? Papa always wins, right? Yes, he does. _Yes, he does_.”

 

There’s no use in arguing when Stiles continues his descent into nonsensical blather that sends Leo into fits of giggles as he grabs at Stiles’ cheeks, squealing in delight when Stiles pretends to bite his fingers.

 

“I’m going to eat you!” Stiles coos, flashing his eyes. His features blend and ripple into a partial shift, thick red fur appearing at his ears and nose twitching. Leo goes ballistic, legs pumping in excitement and bright eyes transfixed. “My little cub; I’m gonna eat your little fingers.”

 

It’s the first Derek’s seen him like this. The lush auburn of Stiles’ coat catches the light, so unlike the short, dark and coarse hairs of a wolf.

 

It’s beautiful.

 

An undefinable emotion sparks in Derek’s chest as he watches them, takes in how gentle Stiles is when Leo grips his fox ears, how his smile is identical to the baby’s.

“Derek?”

 

Caught staring, Derek averts his eyes. “I can give him a bath, if you want?”

 

“That’d be great, I need to shower.” Stiles walks over. “I still have banana all over my face.”

 

Impulsively, Derek rubs his thumbs over a spot of it on Stiles’ cheek. Stiles blinks, skin warm beneath Derek’s fingertips and his partial shift vanishes.

 

“It’s cute.” Derek tickles Leo who has banana on his cheeks as well, although much more than Stiles. “Like mama, like son.”

 

_____________________

 

Work has become something like a chore lately. It’s not a feeling Stiles is used to. Unlike some of his friends, he doesn’t dread the starts of the week. He’s always loved his job. His kids are a riot and keep him young and slightly hipster like. He also gets to shape young minds and all that bullshit, but really, Stiles provides a safe space for his students to think for themselves. Something he wished he had when he was a lost string bean wandering the halls of BHS.

 

However, as great as the kids are, home has been shaping up to be even better in the past few weeks. There’s been a change in Derek’s attitude the past few days. He’s been kind and considerate, treating Stiles like a partner instead of like a roommate who habitually forgets to pay the rent.

 

It’s becoming a frequent thing, Stiles catching glimpses of his mate when Derek salts the driveway in the early morning hours after an ice storm before Stiles leaves for work, or when he transfers the wet laundry into the dryer before Stiles gets to it. He’s learning things, remembering things, about Stiles. They had chicken nuggets and Derek gave him mayo, Derek changed the oil in his precious Jeep and reupholstered the trunk too.

 

There are other things, the softening in his gaze, the way he smiles more and even teases him. It’s enough to get Stiles flustered, and he’s quickly getting addicted, hopes rising even when he tells himself not to expect too much. It’s Derek but he’s different, it’s like living with your husband who is somewhat of a stranger.  Stiles is starting to appreciate that he even likes him.

 

“Stiles!” Jordan calls out when Stiles books it to his car seconds after the school bell rings. “Hey, man! Wait up.”

 

Jordan is with Adam, a social studies teacher and they both are sporting those warm smiles that precede an invitation to—

 

“Happy hour!” Jordan announces with a flourish. “ _Crow & Dagger_ is having a wine down Wednesday. We’re headed down, come with?”

 

Stiles pretends to think about it for a hot second. “Thanks, but no thanks, I have to get home.”

 

“C’mon, man.” Adam whines; typical lit teacher. “You don’t come out at all anymore.”

 

“New baby.” Leo is always the perfect defense. Who can fault him for having working omega guilt? “He’s already suffering from separation anxiety.”

 

“This will be the last happy hour until after winter break.”

 

“Next time, guys.” Stiles promises, tossing his bag into the back seat of his car before opening the driver’s door. “We’ll go down to Derek’s bar, drinks on the house.”

 

Without waiting for a response, Stiles starts the car and heads home.

 

_________________

 

“Derek!” Stiles shouts as he lets himself in the front door. “I’m Home!”

 

Stiles comes to an abrupt stop.

 

The house smells suspiciously like cheese-y goodness and deliciously fragrant tomato sauce. Their house hasn’t smelled this way in a very, very long time.

 

“Derek, I’m calling the police! Someone broke into our house and cooked.”

 

Derek’s head pops out from the kitchen, expression exasperated. “I cooked.”

 

“You did?” Stiles drops his briefcase on the couch, kicking his shoes off as he goes. He’ll pick them up later.  The dinner table is set, crispy garlic bread, chicken parmesan and pasta laid out in serving platters. “You used the good china.”

 

Stiles has no idea why he said that.

 

Derek looks amused. “Sorry?”

 

“No, don’t be.” Stiles walks over to the table slowly. “This looks really good.”

 

“I followed the recipe, no food poisoning this time around.”

 

Heart in his throat, Stiles looks at Derek only to be met with an apologetic smile.

 

“Isaac told me about it.”

 

Tamping down on the disappointment, Stiles forces a smile. “Where’s Leo?”

 

Derek points down and Stiles looks around for his pup, but nothing.

 

“Under the table.” Derek clarifies, and there’s a hint of laughter in his voice. “It’s his new favorite place.”

 

Dropping to his knees, Stiles peers beneath the tablecloth and sure enough, there’s his baby. In the dim light, it’s apparent his eyes are glowing.

 

That explains Derek’s excitement.

 

“Omg!” Stiles squeals. “Leo!”

 

Forgetting the table-leg he’d been gnawing at, Leo lurches forward at the sound of his voice, hands bracing on the rug as he begins to crawl to him eagerly.  He’s drooling on his yellow bib and chin. Derek’s brushed out his hair, and being that Leo’s hair is curly, he’s sporting a serious afro of frizz. He looks like a lion.

 

“Did you show Daddy how strong you are?” Stiles lifts him up when he crawls into his lap, hugging him close to his chest.  “Look at you! Stop growing so fast, baby.” He smacks a loud kiss to his cheek. “Did you show Daddy what a good and smart little alpha you are?”

 

“We’re celebrating.”

 

“I can see that now.” Stiles sits down, Leo clutching at him with chubby fists. “You even made salad. Like a real restaurant would.”

 

“It’s a huge deal.”

 

“I know.” Stiles bounces Leo a bit, and his son garbles nonsense jovially. “I can’t wait to tell the pack.”

 

“I texted them already, couldn’t wait. Even Lydia is impressed.” Derek looks awkward for a second. “Do foxes…I mean, do you guys—”

 

“We get none of the awesome alpha tricks.” Stiles bounces Leo. “But we do have some milestones, full tail coming in and all that. We call it ‘bustle,’ get a huge party and everything.” There’s a small bowl of half eaten mushy green stuff sitting in the table. “Did you blend food for him?”

 

Derek shrugs, covering the congealed mush with a plastic lid. “Don’t think he’s a fan of pea soup.”

 

As Leo is currently trying to latch on through Stiles’ shirt, little claws not very kind to his dress shirt, Stiles would have to agree.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Stiles has eaten not only his portion of chicken but most of Derek’s as well. He didn’t realize how much he missed a home cooked meal. They’ve been surviving on copious amounts of takeout, bacon and eggs and whatever scraps Melissa gives them out of the goodness of her heart.

 

“You have officially got your groove back.”

 

Derek tries to hide a grin behind his napkin but Stiles catches it. “That good?”

 

“You know it is.”

 

“I actually don’t because you ate mine.”

 

“Well, it’s your duty to provide for your mate. What do they say: fed and fucked?” Belatedly, Stiles realizes what he’s said and blushes. “You know what I mean, in an objective sense.”

 

Derek begins clearing away the dishes, stacking them to carry into the kitchen.

 

“Just as soon as Leo is finished nursing, I’ll do the dishes.” Stiles offers half-heartedly. “Dishwasher’s out.”

 

Frankly, all Stiles wants to do is get his kid to bed and sleep.

 

Well, not sleep, but he’s sure Derek cooking doesn’t mean he’s willing to jump into bed with Stiles, no matter the old and slightly off-putting adage. Although, that’d be the best way to celebrate Leo’s milestone—by getting started on his little brother or sister.

 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll do them.”

 

“But you cooked and –”

 

“Omega doesn’t mean dishwasher.”

 

Stiles has said that to Derek more times than he can count, and Derek would always laugh and promise to do the dishes but would end up doing something asinine like throwing them away. Or forcing Stiles to eat on paper plates like a hobo.

 

Sharp pain breaks into his thoughts.

 

“Ow!” Stiles stares down at the culprit and Leo gives him a gummy smile filled with innocence. “You bit me!”

 

Stiles doesn’t push him away, but looks down at him cautiously. “I’m hoping that’s a one- time thing kid, like you now realize you can’t bite me. Papa is being pretty nice so you be nice too.”

 

In response, Leo begins to nurse once more, incisors tucked safely away.  Not like he can be angry with an infant, and look at those big Hale eyes, he wouldn’t even want to be.

 

“I have to warn you, sweet child of mine, if this biting thing is a regular occurrence, we might not make it to the recommended year for Werewolves, and you’ll be eating Daddy’s mushy peas so fast your head will spin. So, be a good boy for Papa, ok?”

 

Leo gives a soft purr of contentment, and Stiles heart melts, he cuddles him close as Leo’s round little belly fills and he grows lethargic. He hums to him as he nurses, sleep returning to make his eyelids heavy.

 

“I love you, through grey skies, my baby, through blue skies. When we cry and in good times, I know you’ll always be mine.” Stiles sings quietly, rubbing Leo’s neck as his eyes close. “Oh honey, I know this is true. My baby through all skies; grey or blue.”

 

When Stiles moves to switch Leo to his other side he spots Derek leaning against the door frame, watching them. Derek’s doesn’t look away, mouth slightly parted.

 

“He bit me.” Stiles supplies when the silence lengthens into something not entirely comfortable. “Fire up your blender and get your peas in order, because baby wolf-y may be switching to solids permanently.”

 

“My mother used to sing that song.” Derek finally says, eyes gleaming with a far-off sheen like he’s seeing someone else. “To me and my sister. After she died, Laura became a little mum, you know? She would tuck me and Cora in, and she would always sing that song, our song.”

 

Stiles knows that, of course he does. He remembers how broken Derek was, how he cried when he realized he couldn’t recall the sound of his sister’s voice.  Most of all, he remembers the warmth of his tears against Stiles’ belly as he sang to their unborn baby off key.

 

“Seeing you sing it to him…it hits home. I know this is real, but this…Stiles _nobody_ knows.”

 

“You w-wanted him to have those memories, you said, even if they were second hand.”

 

“I miss them. I miss them so fucking much.” Derek admits quietly and Stiles doesn’t miss the tremor in his voice. “I know it’s been longer, I know in the real world…but not for me, for me, it feels like yesterday. I don’t know how to feel whole without them.”

 

Stiles doesn’t know what to say but everything in him cries out for his mate. He can feel the pain and the grief and he wants nothing more than to take it away. Yet he’s helpless. “I wish there was something I could do.”

 

Derek remains in the doorway, steps away. “Can you keep singing to him?”

 

_____________________

 

Dr. Morrel puts down the notepad. “You’re making progress.”

 

“I still don’t remember.”

 

“Derek, when you first began therapy, you were having significant issues with shirt term memory. And now? You’ve given me a list of everything you wore for the past two weeks. That’s progress.”

 

“It’s not my clothes I need to remember, Doctor.”

 

“You’ll get there, you have to—”

 

“Trust the process.” Derek finishes.

 

“I never said I wasn’t predictable.” Dr. Morrell huffs.  “Has our Other friend made a re-appearance?”

 

“I don’t know.” Derek shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He doesn’t trust her not to hit the panic button when they talk about him seeing things. He still has a hard time convincing himself he’s not crazy. “I _think_ he did.”

 

“When? And how?”

 

“The other night.  I heard singing when I was washing the dishes. I went out into the dining room, and Stiles was singing to the baby. While he was singing…I didn’t see the other guy but, it’s weird…I think I felt him.”

 

“How so?”

 

“It was Stiles’ voice but there was another, for just a couple of seconds, it felt like it was playing inside of my head.”

 

“Did you experience any pain? Nausea?”

 

“No. Well. A little bit.”

 

“What’d you do?”

 

“I asked him to keep singing.”

 

She smiles. “Anything in particular?”

 

“It was a lullaby, a song my mom made up. It meant a lot to me.”

 

“You didn’t get angry?”

 

“Why would I?”

 

“You didn’t faint from pain?”

 

“No.”

 

“Derek, that’s progress. Your mind is healing itself with time, and I think a big part of that comes with positive thinking and reaffirmation. From everything you’ve said, the stronger your relationship with Stiles gets, the better it is for you.”

 

“There is no relationship.”

 

“Does he wear his wedding ring?”

 

Stiles has never taken it off as far as Derek can tell. He keeps his on his finger despite the fact Derek’s placed his matching one in the nightstand the first night he arrived at the house.

 

“He wears it.”

 

“And does he go out on dates?”

 

Jordan’s smug face jumps into his mind, and Derek grits his teeth. The thought of Jordan putting his hands all over Stiles leaves him murderous.

 

“He doesn’t.” Derek falters, stomach clenching as the thought sinks in and takes hold. “Not that I know of.”

 

“Why haven’t you told him about Paige?”

 

Derek doesn’t reply.

 

Dr. Morrell nods. “That’s your answer.”

 

_____________________

 

 

“No; like this.” Derek stands behind Stiles, fingers curling over his slender ones on the handle of the knife. They’ve been at this cooking thing for close to half an hour and Derek doesn’t think he’s ever laughed so hard and so often in his life. Cooking has never been so damn entertaining. Stiles has a wicked sense of humor. “Even and precise, so it will cook evenly.”

 

Stiles snort. “Alright. Suddenly you’re all Master Chef, huh?”

 

“Melissa has been giving me some pointers.” Derek continues until they reach the end of the carrot. He finds he doesn’t want to move away but it’d be strange not to, so he does. He clears his throat when Stiles gives him a knowing look. “ _Keep going_.”

 

“Don’t you think we jumped the gun going directly to soup?”

 

“I think that soup is literally the bottom of the cooking ladder.”

 

“Nah, bottom of the ladder would be a sandwich. Hey, is it too late to make some grilled cheese and call it a day?”

 

“You’re the one who wanted carrot and coriander soup.”

 

“The baby wanted it.”

 

“Yeah, right.”

 

“Fine, I wanted it, but never listen to me! That’s rule number one.” Stiles scoops the cut-up carrots up by a handful and throws them into the waiting metal bowl to toss in oil.  A few pieces fall to the floor and Stiles bends down to get them.

 

Derek finds himself appreciating the view, the denim stretches tight over his ass and his shirt riding up to reveal the bite-able dimples above it and—

 

“Stiles! Do not put those back in the bowl!”

 

“Five second rule!”

 

Grabbing the offending pieces before Stiles can act on his childish compulsion, Derek tosses them into the trash while Stiles sulks.

 

“Why do we have to roast the carrots if we’re just going to blend them?

 

“It develops a depth of flavor.”

 

“Look at you, Gordon Ramsey.”

 

“Soup doesn’t give me bragging rights.”

 

“Well, I hope this turns out better than the bolognaise—”

 

“Which you still ate.”

 

Stiles shrugs. “I _like_ over cooked pasta and hate wasting food.”

 

In the middle of Stiles’ rant about children starving in Africa, Derek’s phone rings, startling Leo whose been shaking it and hitting it with his palm for the past twenty minutes.

 

Wiping his hands on a dish towel, Derek looks at the display. He freezes.

 

“I have to take this. Work.” Derek leaves before Stiles can probe further. He steps out onto the deck, cool air hitting his face. “Hi.”

 

“Hey!” Paige greets brightly. There are people talking loudly in the background. “Bad time?”

 

“No, cooking dinner.”

 

“Anything good?”

 

“Carrot soup.”

 

Paige hums in appreciation. “I love carrot soup.”

 

A beat of silence.

 

Derek doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say.

 

“I can bring you by some leftovers, if you want.”

 

Not that.

 

Derek wants to kick himself as soon as he offers.

 

Stupid.

 

“I’d love that! I’m off work by seven, meet in Helena?”

 

Derek looks towards the house; watches Stiles bite his lip in concentrations as he chops carrots.  Leo is mushing bananas and cheerios happily unto the tray. The light is warm, casting them in a tableau of domesticity. He wants nothing more than to go back in there and be with them.

 

And yet.

 

“I can be there by eight.”

 

“Great.” Derek can almost hear her smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

 

The moment Derek disconnects the call he’s hit with guilt.

 

“Everything okay?” Stiles asks when he walks inside. “Emergency?”

 

“Yeah.” Derek feels nauseous. “Or I mean no, but I will have to go into work tonight after all.”

 

Stiles face falls. “Oh.”

 

“We can finish up here before I leave.”

 

“Good.” Stiles grins but it’s a pale imitation of the genuine smiles given before. “We should make it quick then.”

 

_____________________

 

“I look like a jackass.”

 

If it was anyone else Stiles would think they were fishing for compliments, but it’s Derek, and he’s always been notoriously oblivious to how sexy he looks in a well-tailored suit. This one is Stiles’ favorite, the European cut and modern lines accentuating the wide breadth of his shoulders and the powerful lines of his thighs.

 

The way the man fills out a suit is criminal.

 

“ _I_ look like a jackass; this suit is very unforgiving to my baby weight.” Stiles tries unsuccessfully to adjust his cummerbund. His hair is sticking up in about six directions but he gave up on that beast a long time ago. “You look like Bruce Wayne, by the way; gonna break a lot of high school kid’s hearts.”

 

“Because that’s what I want to hear.”

 

Stiles grins and shrugs on his jacket. “I know the BHS Winter Ball isn’t VIP, so thanks for doing this. We’re short staffed because the Jennifers are all out with stomach flu.”

 

“The Jennifers?”

 

“Jennifer Blake, Jennifer Moran and Jennifer Atlas.”

 

“Tell me we don’t have to stay the entire time.”

 

“I’m on clean up duty but I think we can sneak out after ten.”

 

“Thank God for small favors.” Derek grabs the keys to the BMW. “I get to drive.”

 

_________________________

 

 

The gym has been transformed to a Winter Wonderland as best as the student body association could with their limited budget, which honestly isn’t much. The winter theme is mostly fulfilled by cotton ball center pieces and balloons. To Stiles, the dance looks like the quintessential eighties movies school dance. Tyler Haines could double for Duckie.

 

The DJ, who also manages the local Stop 2 Shop, is blasting pop music of the Justin Beiber variety as they make their way through the sparely occupied dance floor to the chaperone’s post. It’s early, lights too bright and the few kids who arrived on time are huddled around the buffet or at their tables scrolling through their phones.

 

Stiles looks over at Derek and grins, he looks pained, hands crossed in front of him like a security guard. He hasn’t moved an inch in the past few minutes.

 

“Relax.” Stiles pokes him. “You’re crushing it in that tuxedo and the buffet has honey garlic chicken wings from Hunan Palace. Once Gary stops with the _Baby, Baby, Baby_ , you may even have a good time.”

 

“I just stand here and not let kids grind on each other, right?”

 

“Those are your orders, alpha.” Stiles reaches up and straightens Derek’s tie. “There. Perfect.”

 

Derek flushes. “I’m going to need alcohol.”

 

Stiles winks and then leans in close to whisper. “There’s a flask in the teacher’s lounge.”

 

Principal Reid ambles over and Stiles makes polite small talk, trying to get the old man not to bring up Derek’s accident. The result is that he’s knee deep in talk of fishing lines when Jordan arrives. Derek zeros in on him instantly. His entire demeanor changes, scowl making a reappearance and bushy eyebrows drawn into the glare of death. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so confusing.

 

“Hi!” Jordan greets. He looks at Stiles’ powder blue suit in disbelief but then laughs. “I thought you were joking.”

 

“It’s vintage.” Stiles pours another glass of punch and hands this one to Derek. “I don’t joke about that.”

 

“How’s it going?” Jordan sticks a hand out to Derek. For a second, Stiles is worried Derek isn’t going to take it, but he does. “Nice to see you again.”

 

“Sure.” Derek replies tightly, and Stiles can tell he’s squeezing Jordan’s hand much harder than necessary.  “You’re chaperoning too?”

 

“Gotta show my school spirit, right?”

 

“I’m here to support my husband.”

 

That statement falls heavily between them.

 

Stiles is stunned.

 

On the one hand, Derek called him his husband, but on the other hand, Derek called him _his husband._

 

Principal Reid suddenly looks very, very interested.

 

“Good for you.” Jordan shifts on the balls of his feet, eyes sliding to Stiles before landing back on Derek. “We appreciate the help.”

 

There’s nothing that will make this awkward conversation less painful, so Stiles stands there, internally dying at how stilted it is.  To his credit of basking in the awkward, Jordan doesn’t leave and Stiles gives up midway through a mostly one-sided conversation about hockey, and heads to the teachers’ lounge in search of that flask.

 

He just needs one drink. One.

___________________

 

It’s not one drink.

 

In Stiles’ defense, there’s only so much he can take. The laced rum he adds to the punch makes everything nice and friendly again. And when Stiles adds some to Derek’s? He becomes a lot less hostile. By Stiles and Derek’s fifth and second drinks respectively, Stiles would even say they’re having a good time. The DJ has shifted more to party classics and less ear bleeding music. Stiles even catches Derek tapping his toe to the beat of the Cha-Cha Slide.

 

After the Winter Queen and King are crowned, Derek grabs Stiles hand and pulls him out through the back door.

 

“Wait, we’re supposed to—”

 

“Sh!” Derek says quite seriously when the door closes behind them heavily. The parking lot is deserted, the dance still in high gear. “You said we could sneak out early.”

 

“But we have to clean up at least one table or something! And I wanna get balloons.” Stiles hiccoughs. “For the baby.”

 

Derek shakes his head, tugging Stiles towards the car. Midway there the double doors open and Principal Reid walks out.

 

Laughing, Stiles pulls Derek down to hide behind a blue pick-up truck. “He’s looking for us!” Stiles whispers, he doesn’t know why he finds this so hilarious. “Just be quiet.”

 

“You’re the one talking—”

 

“Sh!!”

 

Derek gives him an exasperated look, loosening his tie. “I’m beginning to think you can’t handle your alcohol.”

 

Not like he can argue, Stiles already feels dizzy, so he sticks his tongue out. “ _Sh_!”

 

Derek rolls his eyes, and slowly gets up, peeking through the trucks windows. “He’s gone.”

 

“Is he gone?”

 

“I just said he was.”

 

Stiles giggles, then snorts because he just fucking giggled.

 

“C’mon, let’s get to the car before he comes out again.”

 

Stiles let’s himself be helped to the car, laughing as they go because he only stumbles a couple of times.

 

________________

 

“How much did you have to drink exactly?”

 

“Not a lot.” Stiles muses. Derek sincerely doubts that statement as he makes sure he doesn’t hit his head on the way into the car. “Not going to puke on your leather seats.”

 

“You’re too old to be doing this.”

 

“You’re way older than me.” Stiles counters, tongue pressed to his cheek. He sinks back into the seat, sighing happily. “You’re basically forty.”

 

“I am not forty.”

 

“Yes, you are.” Stiles grins, leaning closer. He pokes his finger into Derek’s chest. “But you know what?”

 

“What?”

 

“I like older men.”

“Do you?”

 

“A lot.” Stiles licks his lips. “Like a lot.”

 

Derek can’t help it, he looks at Stiles’ lips, parted on a ragged breath.

 

One minute they’re staring at one another over the console and the next, Derek’s moving without even realizing it. It’s like he’s standing outside of himself, watching his body moves.  

 

As far as kisses go, it’s not sweet or loving. It’s rough, off-center and _filthy_. Stiles makes a soft sound of surprise and hunger that makes Derek press for more. He tastes sharp like sugar and rum. Derek growls, seeking to dominate even when there’s no resistance.

 

“Uh…” Stiles pulls back, wide eyes considering Derek’s; pupil’s black pools in the flickering light of the street lamp. “We shouldn’t…we shouldn’t…”

 

“We shouldn’t do this.” Derek agrees right before he drags Stiles across the leather, sitting him astride his thighs. Stiles tries to speak again, say something, but Derek swallows the words, groaning in satisfaction when Stiles gives in, pulling his shirt out of his pants to run his cold fingers up his abs.

 

The kiss rages on, broken only by their labored breaths and Stiles’ needy moans. The hurt sounds of want are enough to have him hard enough to pound nails. He wants to give Stiles what he’s asking for.

 

Derek grips Stiles’ round ass, forcing him forward against his erection trapped in his slacks. 

Stiles gasps, eyes opening to collide with his own as Derek rolls his hips up once more, setting a deliberate rhythm.

 

“Please.” Stiles bites at Derek’s mouth, hand slipping between them to settle on the thick outline of Derek’s cock. “ _Derek_.”

 

“What do you want? Tell me, anything—”

 

There’s a sharp rap against the window and they both jump.

 

“Fuck!” Stiles yelps as his head hits the roof of the car with a loud smack. He struggles to get off Derek but finds himself caught by the steering wheel, his leg jammed against the door.

 

Derek tries to catch his breath, reality setting in as to what he’s been doing, where he’s been doing it and with whom. There’s another knock at the window, this one accompanied by the bright beam of a flashlight.  

 

Trying to act like he hadn’t been caught necking like a fucking horny teenager, Derek pushes the window button, the glass lowering to let in the cold night air.  It’s with a lot of embarrassment that he realizes the windows fogged up.

 

“Evening, Officer.”

 

A police officer is standing beside the car, his mouth twisted in displeasure. Judging by the look of disapproval and surprise, he’d likely been expecting a much younger couple. “You had anything to drink tonight?”

 

“No, sir.” Derek replies. “And anyway, we’re parked.”

 

“Don’t get smart with me.” The scowl deepens. “License and registration.”

 

“It’s…” Derek opens the console, going through a stack of expired registration cards. Fucking hell, Stiles. Why not throw them away?

 

“Uh...” Stiles stammers, fumbling with his shirt, trying to rebutton it when he catches on to Derek’s inability to find his registration or proof of insurance. “My Dad is the sheriff.”

 

“Pull my other one.”

 

“He is.” Stiles sighs and quits trying to hide his face. “Joe, it’s me.”

 

The officer frowns, then squints his eyes. “Stiles?” He shines his flashlight into the car, going from Derek to Stiles and then back at Stiles’ face. "Really? _Really_.?” He laughs, slapping his thigh. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

 

“Could you let us go with a warning? I know my registration is expired. I’ll go down to the DMV tomorrow.”

 

Joe is still guffawing. Derek wants nothing more than to punch him in the back of the head but even he can see the humor in it.

 

“Little Genim making out outside the high school!”

 

“Joe!” Stiles groans, when the man doesn’t stop laughing. “C’mon! I’m not a little kid anymore.”

 

“You driving, wolf?”

 

Derek nods. “I had one drink.”

 

“You get him home safe.” Joe grins, slapping the roof of the car. “And Stiles, get that car of yours in order.”

 

“Joe, could you not tell my Dad?”

 

The only response is more laughter as the cop walks away.

 

_________________________

 

Derek can still taste Stiles on his tongue on the ride home.

 

A couple of times, he tries to say something, start to explain but the expression on Stiles’ face stops him. The second Derek stops the car, Stiles bolts into the house.

 

By the time Derek gets inside, the shower is running and the bathroom door is locked.

 

_________________________

 

Stiles rushes into his father’s house fully prepared to have a meltdown of epic proportions. He kissed Derek. What the fuck had he been thinking?

 

Stiles skids to a halt when three sets of eyes look at him. Melissa is sitting next to a thin man. There’s a woman with him, she’s sipping tea and looking at him over her saucer.

 

“Oh.” Stiles says dumbly. “I didn’t know you had company.”

 

John looks at him expectantly. “Something wrong?”

 

“I, uh, no. I’ll come back later.”

 

“No.” Melissa takes his hand, smiling wide. “This is as good a time as any.”

 

“For?”

 

But he already knows, he recognizes the thin man now. The reverend. Stiles has seen him once or twice.

 

Melissa beams. “We’re getting married!”

 

Stiles guesses his breakdown will have to wait.

 

_________________________

 

“Use a knife.”

 

Stiles jumps, hand clutching the tin of cream cheese to his chest. “Jeez! Don’t sneak up on me.” He wipes his cream cheese covered finger on a paper towel, putting the jar back into the fridge.

 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

The words barely register, Stiles’ eyes are glued to Derek’s bare, muscled chest still wet from his shower. It’s torture, and now it’s so much worse because he was pressed up against it last night being kissed within an inch of his life. 

 

“Uh.” Stiles grunts because he’s reduced to a caveman. “I was eating cream cheese.”

 

Derek nods like what Stiles has said isn’t completely ridiculous. “Can we talk?”

 

“Leo—”

 

“Is fast asleep, I looked in on him.”

 

There goes his fail safe.

 

“Okay then…”

 

“I’m sorry I kissed you last night.”

 

It’s expected but it still hurts. Stiles averts his eyes not wanting his hurt to show. He absolutely _hates_ Derek’s stupid face right now. This is what he wanted to avoid, because of course this asshole Derek didn’t want to kiss a scrawny fox. The kindness was an act of pity.

 

“I have no excuse for my behavior, except I’d been drinking too.”

 

Blame it on the booze, because Derek would never kiss Stiles sober, would he?

 

Asshole.

 

The anger is welcoming and Stiles latches on to it. “I’m so sorry you had to lower yourself to the likes of me.”

 

“What?”

 

“Because you’re so much better than a fox, right? All that talk about regretting your bullshit specist attitude was just that: talk!”

 

“What? No.” Derek shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant—”

 

“Don’t worry, Derek, I’m not so hard up for it that I’ll keep throwing myself at you.” Stiles feels like he’ll flip his shit for real if he stays in the room a second longer, so he pushes past Derek who seems stands there, seemingly stunned he grew a backbone. “It won’t happen again.”

 

“Wait!” Derek grabs him. “I think you’re misunderstanding me. I’m not sorry about kissing you the other night. I’m sorry that you were drunk and I…I took advantage of that.”

 

Stiles gapes. “You think you _took_ _advantage_ of me?”

 

“You’d been drinking, and I knew that, but I wanted you—”

 

“Well, I’m a _really_ good kisser.” Stiles mouth is dry. He forces a laugh, trying to downplay how close he is to exploding because holy shit. “Or so you always told me.”

 

The beginning of the smile on Derek’s face withers. “I’m not him. The guy you love, it’s not me, not anymore.”

 

“But…you’ll remember, someday.”

 

“Thing is: I don’t need to, Stiles.” Derek tugs him forward and Stiles bumps up against his chest, breath quickening. “ _I_ want _you_.”

 

Stiles is very aware of how big the alpha is, how his shirt stain across his broad chest and how he smells like pine and soap and mate. These things that never leave and Derek will never be aware of.  He tries to calm the harsh beating of his heart.

 

“The question is: do you want me? Not your husband, not the Derek you remember, but me.”

 

Stiles has never been the best at snap decisions. He’s the type to look over the menu for fifteen minutes only to order the same thing he always does. The pressure of little things gets to him. And this? This is _huge_. This is Derek saying he wants him. But even as Stiles thrills at that, he knows that Derek means want in an entirely different way than Stiles. Derek may want to fuck him, but that’s it.

 

“We have two choices.” Derek holds his gaze, fire burning in the hazel depths. The heat crackles between them. “We can forget about what happened in the car …”

 

“We can forget about it or…”

 

“Or.” Derek steps into his space, forcing his back against the wall. As close as they are, Derek towers over him. “We can take what we both want.” Stiles shivers and Derek’s eyes drop to track the movement, gaze smoldering. Stiles’ licks his lips, tastes the salt of sweat. “Just say yes.”

 

For one night, just once, Stiles is going to pretend that the past few months never happened. That Derek came home that night from the store. He deserves this. Deserves to have his husband back. No matter how desperate that makes him.

 

Stiles says yes.

 

Derek’s on him in under a second, mouth sealing over his as his hands crush Stiles to his chest. He’s not gentle; this side of rough. His kisses are hungry and aggressive and leave Stiles light headed as he takes and takes. Derek’s muscles bunch beneath Stiles finger tips when he picks Stiles up and pins him against the wall to hastily undo the buttons of Stiles’ dress shirt. 

 

Stiles moans quietly, head falling back to the wall when Derek’s teeth run over the sensitive skin of his neck. Derek catches the sounds, repeats the movement and then kisses down his neck, leaving hickeys in his wake. Derek shoves his shirt up under his arms, and Stiles’ nipples pebble when the cool air hits them.

 

“You have no fucking idea…” Derek murmurs, licking a stripe over one. Stiles jolts, cock hardening and growing wet when Derek begins to suckle.

 

Stiles nearly comes out of his skin, fingers gripping Derek’s hair tight to hold him there.

 

Derek smirks. “You like that, huh?”

 

“Great observation, C-captain obvious.”

 

Derek leans in close, breath hot against his ear and hands gripping and kneading his ass purposefully. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are?” He asks, voice rough with lust. Stiles’ heart rate kick into high gear. He feels wild and happy, so happy. “Even when you’re being a smart ass…” He noses at Stiles neck, inhaling sharply. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

 

Stiles can feel exactly what he does to Derek. When he says as much Derek nips his collarbone in warning, lifting him up unto the countertop. They kiss and rub against each other for a few more frantic moments, enjoying the build and chase.  

 

When Stiles pulls off Derek’s shirt, he has to remind himself to breathe. Derek’s as beautiful as he remembers, leaner but still hard lines and restrained power. It’s the alpha in him, the possessive glint in his eyes as he brings Stiles hand to his hard cock. His flesh is hot, branding him and Derek groans hoarsely when Stiles curls his finger as best he can around the thick length.

 

“Bedroom.” Derek commands gruffly. “Or I’m going to fuck you right here.”

 

Playing coy, Stiles looks up at Derek through his lashes. “Why can’t you?”

 

Derek groans, looks tempted but pulls Stiles up the stairs anyway.  Stiles make it as difficult as he can for him, kissing his back and tracing his fingers over all that bare, bronze skin. Derek trips on the last step and they both look at each other, laughing at the excitement. He moves to go to the bedroom but Stiles stops him. He wants this but…not in there.

 

“My room.” Stiles says tugging Derek close for a hard kiss to distract him. “C’mon.”

 

Once the door is shut behind them, Stiles gets into bed, grabbing half empty lube from the nightstand.

 

Derek raises a brow. “You been busy?”

 

“Maybe.” Stiles smiles lasciviously and licks his lips watching Derek track his tongue. He hasn’t jerked off in months. “Lucky you, won’t need much prep.”

 

Stripping off the remainder of his clothes as he goes, Derek joins him on the bed, covering Stiles’ smaller frame.  In seconds Stiles is naked underneath him, his clothes kicked to the floor. He feels overwhelmed by Derek’s heat and scent when Derek starts kissing.

 

There’s no time to feel shy about the extra weight clinging stubbornly to his hips or being naked, Derek isn’t patient. He yanks Stiles unto his back, hold his thighs open to spread him wide. Stiles has a second to brace himself before Derek begins to eat him out, tonguing his hole and licking away slick like he’s starving.

 

There’s no way he could keep quiet if he tried, so Stiles does. He moans and thrusts up into Derek’s face, gripping him there as pleasure crashes over him in waves. He’s shaking and Derek’s not letting up, spreading him even wider.

 

When he’s about to come, back arched and desperate, Derek moves away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before squirting lube on his cock. He bends down to kiss him again, thick fingers playing at Stiles’ hole, slipping first one finger in then two. Derek catches every sound that leaves his mouth, forehead pressed against Stiles’ and eyes never leaving his own.  Derek’s whispering heated words against his lips, how good he feels, how tight he is, calling him sexy … but even though it’s good, even though Stiles feels seconds away from coming; it’s nothing like before.

 

“Please.” Stiles turns his face, wanting to shut his eyes to the reality of it. “Need you.”

 

Stiles turns over unto his stomach, shoves a pillow beneath him and cants his hips up in wanton invitation.  He knows he must look like a desperate slut and relishes in it. Derek fits himself against the curve of his back. Stiles’ eyes close on a low moan when Derek begins to slide into him, thick cock stretching his inner walls as he forces his way inside of his body. He almost comes on the feeling alone. Stiles bites his lip to keep from crying out, sweat beading at his brow at the sharp pain warring with pleasure.  He’s missed this, missed being with someone; loved.

 

The breath punches out of him when Derek forces the last few inches of his dick inside, insistent and biting at his neck when Stiles feebly, and on reflex alone, moves away. Derek holds him in place, body pressing down to leave him immobile.  He doesn’t move though, stays still inside of him, a burning presence. Eventually the pain fades and the fullness he feels sparks intense pleasure down his spine, his omega cock hardening once more.

 

“Please.” Stiles repeats, panting, arching against Derek. Derek is huge and hot inside of him, the graze of his teeth against the thin skin of his neck. “More, please just— _ah._ ”

 

Derek gets an arm beneath Stiles’ chest and hauls him back into a deep thrust, then another and another. Derek could always read his body, know what it wants, what Stiles needs.

 

“So tight.” Derek groans shoving in deep. “So good for me.”

 

Stiles clamps down on him as best he can, wanting to please the alpha, widening his knees to encourage him to go even deeper as he feels his orgasm crash through him. He’s shakes through it calling Derek’s name into the pillow.

 

And Derek keeps moving. Stiles grips the bedsheets, claws slicing through the fabric as he loses control for a few moments, his heart thundering as Derek fucks him into the mattress. 

 

“Yeah, fuck.” He says on a moan and Derek growls his approval and slams his hips hard, burying himself to the hilt. Over and Over. “Just like that.”

 

“Stiles.” Derek curses, pressing his forehead between Stiles’ sweaty shoulder blades as he comes, shuddering through it. “Fuck.”

 

The flood of his alpha’s come filing him makes Stiles purr, were instincts on overdrive as he’s filled with his mate’s seed. He can feel Derek shaking over him, shuddering. He please his alpha.

 

As he jerks through aftershocks, Derek doesn’t pull out, fingers stroking over Stiles’ arms, kissing his neck and shoulders. It doesn’t mean anything, Stiles knows that werewolves are tactile after sex, but he wishes it did. He’s happy, he is, but there are tears stinging behind his eyes.

 

Tomorrow, Stiles will worry but for now, he’ll let himself pretend for just a little longer. Still dazed, he allows Derek to hold him, listens to his heartbeat slow into the even keels of sleep.

 

_________________________

 

 

Lydia yawns, running fingers through her tangled hair as she studies Stiles. Her eyes are sleep puffy. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

 

“I had sex with Derek.” Stiles blurts, shivering on her doorstep in the pajamas he’s got on beneath his old coat. He’s aware it’s 6 am, but he’s in a full-on panic. He didn’t know where else to go. Scott would have that pinched face, and Kira would treat him like a sad, injured bird or something equally pathetic.

 

Lydia seemed like the safest choice.

 

The sleepiness evaporates. “You slept with Derek?”

 

“Three times.” He adds when she continues to stare at him. “Four if you count when I sucked him off—”

 

“I’ll put tea on.”

 

Ten minutes later they’re sitting at her dainty breakfast nook, sipping chamomile tea.  

 

“So…” Lydia puts her cup down in its saucer. “You had sex with Derek.”

 

“I was an idiot.” Stiles mourns. “I can’t believe I was so fucking shameless.”

 

“Ok? Shameless? It’s not the 1800s Stiles, you’re an omega and you enjoy sex, big whoop. There’s absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.”

 

“Derek _doesn’t remember_ anything, and I jump him.”

 

“I doubt you forced him to have sex with you.” She grins. “How was it?”

 

He hides his red face in the crook of his arm. “So fucking good, you have no idea.”

 

“Then why are you here?”

 

“I couldn’t face him, it would be awkward and he’d go back to being cold and distant and… or even worse, he’d just be gone or act like it never happened—”

 

“You ran away because you were afraid.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Of waking up abandoned.”

 

“Yes but—”

 

“The same way Derek is likely waking up right now.”

 

“It’s not the same thing.”

 

“Isn’t it?”

 

“No.” Stiles maintains. “It’s not. Derek accused me of being a slut, and the first opportunity I get, I sleep with him? Right off the bat? I _know_ what he’s thinking, his puritan sensibilities and all. I can’t believe I was so fucking stupid. Love struck.”

 

“Dick struck, more likely.”

 

Stiles glowers.

 

“Just kidding, love.” Lydia pats his hand sympathetically. “But you’re going to have to go back sometime.”

 

“I did leave my kid.”

 

“And there’s no way to know what Derek feels without talking to him.”

 

“I know that.” Stiles says dejectedly. He looks down at his tea, the errant flecks of chamomile gathered at the bottom. “I’m being a pussy.”

 

“Who knows, maybe—”

 

Stiles phones rings loudly, Derek’s name flashing on the screen.

 

Lydia looks at him expectantly.

 

“I can’t answer that!”

 

A determined look crosses her face and before Stiles can stop her she grabs the phone.

 

“Hello, Derek.” She purrs. “Good morning to you too. Oh, Stiles? He’s at my place. Not sure, something about sitting on your dick four times last night? Oh, I mean three because the fourth time he sucked--”

 

“Lyds!” Stiles screeches, grabbing for his cell unsuccessfully. “ _Really_!”

 

Lydia cackles, sounding way too much like Erica for his liking. “Hm. I’m not sure he knows that. I’ll send him your way. Bye, now.”

 

“Well?” Stiles demands. “What did he say.”

 

“Go home, Stilinski.” Lydia hands his cellphone back with a wink. “Your alpha is waiting.”

 

_________________________

 

Derek expected things to be a little awkward, but he hadn’t expected Stiles to run away, leaving him to wake in an empty bed, dick still wet. At first, Derek is pissed enough that he’s going to accept it, let things roll into complete denial until they both could pretend they didn’t have incredible sex and go right back to being platonic roommates. But then Derek thought of denying himself, of not being able to touch the omega or kiss him and quickly decided against it. They’re both adults, they both want sex, why not have it with each other?

 

And they were good together. Once hadn’t been enough for either of them. They’d went at it for half the night, Derek fucking the omega into a pliant mess, swallowing his cries and gladly accepting the sharp rake of nails down his back as his due. Stiles was small, narrow, but built to take him. His passage was so slick, so tight and good around his cock. Derek shudders, dick stirring in his hastily drawn on sweat pants, thinking about how intense everything was. He adjusts himself and of course that’s when Stiles comes back.

 

Wide amber eyes focus in on him.

 

“Uh, hi.” Stiles puts down a Styrofoam container and paper bag on the counter. Something primal flickers in Derek when he notices he’s walking with a slight limp. He must be sore. “I brought donuts.”

 

“Why’d you leave?”

 

The blush makes the beard burn and hickeys stand out on Stiles’ pale skin. “Thought it was good idea, we both needed space.”

 

“I don’t need space.”

 

“Ok, then _I_ do.”

 

“Why?”

 

Stiles gives an exasperated look and Derek is struck by the urge to bite that plump bottom lip. He remembers how it looks stretched wide obscenely on his cock as Stiles sucked him dry.

 

“We’re both adults here, so uh, yeah, morning-after pill was a priority.”

 

“You’re nursing.” Derek hadn’t even thought of that. “And not in heat.”

 

“Again, _I’m a fox_. It could happen, small chance, but still there.”

 

Trying not to reveal how weirdly nervous he is, Derek roots through the shopping bag, but finds only blueberry donuts. “Did you take it?”

 

“Don’t worry, big guy, no chance of pregnancy over here.”

 

Derek’s not sure what he feels but it’s not relief.

 

“Look, I know what you think, but last night…I didn’t do that for.” Stiles bites his lip. “It wasn’t casual for me.”

 

Catching Stiles around the waist, he holds him immobile when he tries to move past. “What do I think?”

 

“You said it yourself, right? I get around, so fucking you would be no big deal.”

 

“I apologized for that.”

 

“Doesn’t change that you meant it.”

 

“You think I had sex with you because it was, what? Convenient.”

 

Stiles doesn’t respond but it’s not far from what he’s thinking.

 

“I slept with you because I want you, nothing more, nothing less.”

 

“Nothing more.” Stiles repeats dully, eyes dropping down to where Derek’s gripping his waist. “Did it mean anything to you?”

 

“I enjoyed it.” Derek watches his expression closely. “A lot. Did you?”

 

“I came a million times, stop fishing for compliments.”

 

“I mean, what did it mean to you?”

 

“I don’t know. I thought… I hoped that if we. Maybe you would remember.”

 

That’s the truth that is always there.

 

Stiles will always want someone else; someone he isn’t.  Even after they discussed it, _even after Derek told him_.

 

“Was he better than me?”

 

Stiles frowns. “Who?”

 

“Your Derek.” He knows it’s crazy but he can’t stop himself. “Did he make you come harder than I did? Did he make you feel better than I did? Was he better?”

 

Stiles stares at him speechless. “You’re shitting me.”

 

“I’m not him.”

 

“I know that! Not like I can forget it, you keep saying _that_.”

 

“But do you fucking get it? Do you understand?”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“It means that I’d like to, I don’t know, get to know you! I liked hanging out with you before, when there were no expectations, we got along and I _actually_ had fun…”

 

“So, what?” Stiles snarls. “Friends with benefits?”

 

“No! Have you always been this damn frustrating? Like _dating_.”

 

“You want to date me?”

 

“If you’re open to it…”

 

Stiles is silent for long enough that Derek starts to feel anxious. It could be like he thought, Stiles isn’t interested in _him_ , he wants a memory. Last night had been Stiles reaching out to his husband, Derek was just a substitute.

 

But then Stiles is looking up at him, nodding and he looks sad but happy at the same time.

 

“Okay?” Derek tries, not sure what this means.

 

“Okay.” Stiles takes a step towards him and Derek closes the distance, hands sliding up his arms to shuck off Stiles’ coat. “Derek?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You know what this means, don’t you?”

 

Derek eyes him warily, shakes his head.

 

“You think I’m pretty, you wanna date me, you wanna kiss me—”

 

And Derek kisses him, because fuck it, Stiles is right, he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, no angsty cliffhangers :)
> 
> Also, Leo Hale is the cutest baby to ever baby in any of my stories. IMO.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! my muse is fickle so I have adopted the policy of writing only when i feel like it. I'm not going to try and force it.
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

 

Stiles turns his face up to the warm spray, closing his eyes as the water runs over him. The stress of pretending and trying to make it all ‘okay’ is weighing on him. He’d left Derek to deal with Leo, needed a few moments to himself.

 

On one hand, he’s thrilled to have his husband close to him again; to feel the strength and connection that comes through intimacy. But on the other… it hurts.

 

Every time he kisses Derek, touches him, he’s reaffirming his vows, showing his love.  Stiles can’t say the same for Derek.  For Derek, it’s a fuck. And what guy is going to turn down regular sex?

 

Stiles snorts in self derision, reaching for the shampoo. He’s worked up a lather when he hears the bathroom door opens.

 

“Everything ok?”

 

“Fine.” Derek replies, he slides open the glass door and steps inside the shower with him.

 

Stiles opens his eyes. Derek’s naked, cock at attention. “Um?”

 

“Leo’s down for a nap.”

 

Derek follows his gaze and smirks. He backs him up against the wet wall and all the angst Stiles had been mooning over flies out the window. All his brain can think is hot and wet and naked.

 

Derek rinses his hair gently, mouth brushing down the side of his neck. When his hair is clean, Derek reaches for the body wash. He soaps Stiles chest, fingers nails grazing over his arms, across his nipples and stomach before moving over his legs.   Derek’s fingers dip between his ass cheeks, Stiles starts to protest but stops at the heat in Derek’s eyes. Instead, he shamelessly opens his legs and bites his lip as Derek opens him up.

 

With a lingering kiss, Derek turns Stiles around, brings his hand up to the wet tile with silent instruction to brace himself. Derek pushes inside of him with one deep thrust. He fucks Stiles slow and deep, broad chest pressing him against the wall, stealing his breath. Stiles arches back into the strong thrusts, takes everything Derek gives until he feels his orgasm rush through him.

 

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

 

_“I’m nervous; it’s stupid.” Stiles ducks his face into the curve of Derek’s neck, cheeks hot. “It’s not like I haven’t had sex before but it feels… it’s fucking stupid.”_

_They’ve been kissing for several minutes, long enough that Stiles’ lips are tender and he’s sure to be sporting impressive hickeys down his neck and chest in the morning._

_It’s been months of being together, of dates and holding hands and being so cliché, it hurts. It’s also incredible. This is what Stiles had always been afraid of dreaming of, wanting. He never thought another person could see him and love him. Accept him. Least of all Derek who was so much…more._

_“It’s not stupid.” Derek says earnestly; his hair is sticking up at the crown of his head from when Stiles’ hastily tugged off his shirt. Stiles wants to kiss the serious expression away from his face. “I’m nervous too. This isn’t sex, Kit.”_

_“Please don’t say—”_

_“It’s making love.”_

_“You are so fucking corny!” Stiles huffs out a laugh, pressing his damp forehead to Derek’s. From this close he can see the myriad of green in Derek’s eyes, the black pools as his pupils as they dilate when he inhales the pheromones Stiles is putting out like nobody’s business. “If only your terrorized public knew how sappy the big, bad alpha is.”_

_A growl. “Only with you.”_

_“Damn right.”_

_“Baby.” Whenever Derek calls him that it drives Stiles crazy, makes him hot and pleased. Derek presses kisses to his cheeks and ears, never pushing, never making to deepen the contact. “We don’t have to do anything tonight if—”_

_“If you don’t stop pussy footing I’ll climb on top of you and ---”_

_“May have to.” It’s Derek’s turn to blush. “You know I’ve never done this before.”_

_“You’re not a virgin.”_

_“With a guy.”_

_“Just Paige then?”_

_“If I do anything you don’t like or something that doesn’t feel good—”_

_Stiles kisses him fiercely, pulling Derek down on to the bed with him. “You could never.”_

Back then, Derek had been aggressive but loving, tentative and careful as he pushed into Stiles for the first time. He wanted to see Stiles’ face, watch him react to every caress and look him in the eyes when he came. As their sex life progressed, that had never changed. It always ended face to face, the two of them alone in the universe they created.

 

Stiles shifts unto his side, watches Derek as he sleeps next to him. He’s different now, but still the same. Stiles isn’t having second thoughts, he wants to be with Derek but it feels off, like putting on shoes that are slightly too small. The pinch never leaves.

 

Derek’s hand is flung out over the mattress, tan fingers curled over Stiles’ hip. Stiles touches the fine dusting of dark hair over Derek’s knuckles, traces where his wedding ring should be.

 

The constant weight on his chest doubles and he aches. He tries not to but the tears start before he can lock them away.

 

Derek doesn’t stir.

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

Leo is shaping up to be a kid that doesn’t play well with others.  Every toy and non-toy in the vicinity is his and if you try and tell him otherwise, he’ll attempt to deafen you with screams. With Derek unable to establish that dominant presence an alpha cub needs (according to all the books Stiles has read), it’s getting difficult to manage him when he hits a mood.

 

Across Erica’s living room, Isla stares down at Leo, who is clutching her Barbie doll mutinously, mouth set into a quivering frown, just waiting to freak out if she makes a move. There’s a small mountain of assorted stolen toys behind him. Isla looks from Leo to her mom, confused.

 

Erica laughs, pouring herself and Stiles another glass of iced tea. “Sweetie, get another doll, ok? But this time play up on the table. Leo is our guest so we’ll let him play with Malibu Tanya.”

 

Expression disapproving, Isla does what her mother asks.

 

“Good save.” Stiles shovels the rest of his blueberry muffin into his mouth. “Kid is a nightmare sometimes.”

 

“What are you going to do when he starts daycare?”

 

“Derek doesn’t want him in daycare.” Stiles replies automatically.

 

“That was _before_ he got into the accident and was neutered.”

 

“We’re trying to keep things as normal as possible.”

 

“That where the sex comes in?” Erica grins lasciviously, leaning over the table. Stiles bets she’s been holding this in since he got here. “Don’t bother denying it, you two might as well put up a neon sign over your heads.”

 

“I’m not denying it.” Stiles shrugs, licking up crumbs. “Fringe benefits to co-parenting and dating.”

 

“ _Dating_.” Erica claps her hands together, delighted. “Lydia didn’t tell me that.”

 

“Low budget Gossip girls.”

 

“I’m glad though, you deserve to be happy.” Erica kicks him under the table.  “You _are_ happy, right?”

 

“I am; it’s … I don’t know: weird.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Like I’m cheating on Derek.”

 

“Stiles...”

 

“And simultaneously mourning the death of my husband.”

 

All traces of laughter vanish. “Oh, sweetie.”

 

“Like I said, I don’t know. The sex is good, we’re having a good time when we hang out and stuff. I like it; I like him.”

 

“Do you think you can fall for him like this?”

 

“That’s the problem, it’s been like a week and I already am.” He shakes his head ruefully. “I’m living in a _Lifetime_ movie, except it’s hurts way more than it is romantic. Oh God! I’d totally be played by Katherine Heigl.”

 

“Have you told Derek about how you’re feeling? Maybe you two should slow down?”

 

“I don’t want to take things slow.”

 

Before she can continue, the front door opens. Boyd is hidden behind a mountain of grocery bags because everyone knows Boyd would rather die than make two trips.

 

“Just the alpha I wanted to see.” Stiles scoops up Leo from the floor and hands him over as soon as Boyd sets the bags down in the foyer. “Discipline.” Stiles elaborates when the werewolf just stares at him. “You’re the only other alpha in his pack, show him who’s boss.”

 

What follows is the almost adorable stare off known to man. Leo chewing his fists and watching Boyd warily with his Barbie still held tight and Boyd staring back at him like he’s a stick of dynamite.

 

“What’s he been doing?”

 

“Typical dominance stuff.” Stiles fixes one of Leo’s socks which had been hanging on to his big toe for dear life. “ _Lots_ of biting.”

 

“Which is normal.”

 

“You’ve gotta be his alpha, his daddy is out of commission.”

 

With a put-upon sigh, Boyd flashes his alpha eyes.

 

Leo squirms in his hold, startled.

 

“Did it work?”

 

“It’s not a magic trick, Stiles.” Erica rolls her eyes and takes Leo from him. “He’ll calm down, he knows he’s not the big dog on campus anymore. At least in this house.” She swats Boyd on the ass. “That was hot, even if you were terrorizing a cub.”

 

“Derek still emits Alpha. He should be able to be a dominant presence.” Boyd picks up his groceries. “Are you staying for dinner?”

 

“Derek is also working a lot, which means out of the house a lot.” Stiles follows him into the kitchen. “You’ve got to stop calling him into the bar all the time. I know he’s the owner but there should be slack for memory loss.”

 

Boyd frowns, fingers gripping an heirloom tomato. “I make him work…?”

 

“It’s good to get into a routine but cut back on nights; Dr. Morrell doesn’t think that’s good for him.”

 

“Sure.” Boyd coughs awkwardly before he turns on the stove. “So, dinner?”

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

Mason and Isla share the same birthday, so on Saturday the pack crowds into _Little_ _Thai_ and celebrates in a hodge- podge combined birthday party that the kids will soon grow to resent when they’re older and selfish but for now love.

 

Stiles has a headache.

 

The waitress is a twenty-something wolf. She has long, dark hair and this uncanny ability to make everything she says to Derek sound like a proposition for sex. She’s flirting shamelessly and Derek either doesn’t know or doesn’t care.

 

She looks like Paige.

 

Stiles looks away to find Boyd staring at him.

 

“I think I’m going to get the drunken noodles.” Stiles announces. The waitress looks surprised to hear him talking even though it’s her job to take his order. “Mild please.”

 

“Okay?” Aimee, her name tag reads. Of course. She goes right back to ignoring his existence. “What would you like, alpha?”

 

Scott’s glare gets worse.

 

Boyd raises a brow. “We’ll take four of the sampler platters to start with, we need some time to figure the rest out. Come back when the appetizers are ready.”

 

Aimee looks affronted, but finally saunters off, literally _saunters_ and sashay’s RuPaul style into the back. Stiles has worked as a waiter, he used to wear these horrific orthopedic black sneakers because being on his feet all night was a nightmare. But Aimee is wearing heels more suited to a pole then a Thai restaurant.

 

The kids are particularly rowdy tonight, running around the tables and Stiles is glad they had the foresight to book a private room. Mason is already tearing up napkins and blowing them at his brother, making the other boy cry.

 

Man, the other diners would’ve _hated_ them.

 

Ignoring what Boyd requested, Aimee keeps coming back.  Every time she does, she finds an excuse to hang off Derek. Stiles feels more and more unattractive and unwanted. Derek doesn’t go out of his way to speak to him or show any affection.

 

And fine, they wanted to keep things discreet but Derek is acting like they’re strangers.

 

“Great place you picked, _Boyd_.” Stiles elbows him in the ribs. “Is the entire wait staff out of 90210?”

 

Boyd scowls but doesn’t reply. Scott does.

 

“What a joke.” Scott mutters to no one in particular, but he’s decidedly glaring at Derek now.

 

To add insult to injury, the food is delicious, and Stiles angrily shoves shrimp rolls into his mouth as he watches Derek across the table. Leo’s standing on Derek’s thighs, raptly watching as Derek puts food into his mouth.

 

“Derek didn’t flirt back or anything.” Boyd says to his left. “So, you may want to tamp down on the death glare.”

 

“He didn’t stop her.” Stiles looks at Derek’s left hand, where even the tan line of his ring has faded. “How am I not supposed to be pissed off?”

 

“It’s disrespectful.” Scott adds. “Complete asshole.”

 

Boyd looks at him. “Not helping.”

 

“He’s not even trying to be discrete!” Scott angry whispers.

 

Before Boyd can answer, Aimee gets back and this time when she touches Derek’s shoulder, it stays there. She bends down to explain the desserts and her _absolute favorites._

It’s ridiculous at this point.

 

Stiles kicks Derek under the table, hard. 

 

Erica yelps, jumping in her seat. “Ow! What?”

 

“Cramp.” Stiles lies.

 

Before she can start in on him, however, Aimee shrieks, jumping back with her hand to her chest. She has a few smears of blood on her palm.

 

“Leo!” Derek admonishes sternly. “No biting! That’s not nice.”

 

Leo immediately bursts into tears.

 

“I’m sorry.” Derek tells her, over the baby’s cries. “He’s teething and starting to beta shift—”

 

“That’s fine, I remember when my little brother was at that age.” Aimee says tightly, expression saying it’s not fine. “I’ll be back with the dessert specials.”

 

And his kid? Kind of the best thing on the entire planet.

 

“Give me my baby.” Stiles holds out his hands when it becomes clear Leo isn’t going to calm down. The moment he gets into Stiles arms, his sobs wane to sniffles and Stiles kisses his wet cheeks. “Good job.” He whispers.

 

Boyd catches the last bit. “Six months old and fighting your Mama’s battles.”

 

The rest of the meal is uneventful. The kids quiet down the more they eat and by the time the two birthday cakes are rolled out, Isla is asleep and Mason is behaving like an angel. He graciously blows out the candles on Isla’s unicorn cake even though Boyd wants to wake her up.

 

They linger over coffee, and slices of cake, remaining long after the bill is paid.

 

“Stiles?” Derek suddenly remembers he exists. “You ready to take off?”

 

Stiles is ready to punch him in the balls.

 

“Yup.”

 

They say their goodbyes to the remaining pack members then Derek helps him into his coat and they both wrangle Leo into his snowsuit.  Out of the fucking blue, Derek grabs his hand to hold as they walk out of the restaurant. Right in front of Aimee, who is sporting a white bandage on her palm. Drama Queen. It’s likely healed by now.

 

The icy air hits him like a slap in the face, it’s snowing.

 

“I told her I was married, you know.”

 

“Sure you did.”

 

“When I asked for recommendations, I said, what do you think my husband would like, he’s partial to pine nuts.” Derek opens the car door for Stiles then lifts Leo into his car seat. “Some people can’t take a hint. You said you don’t fuck around, neither do I.”

 

“Do you feel like you’re married?”

 

“I feel like I’m dating you, like we agreed.”

 

“I believe you.” Stiles says, and he thinks he does. “It’s just hard sometimes.”

 

“To trust me?” Derek starts the car and pulls out of the lot. “Shouldn’t be that hard.”

 

“You’re new to me.”

 

“I bet this isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. I can’t imagine your old man helps much.”

 

“Dad doesn’t say—”

 

“I’ve read through my text messages Stiles. I’ve seen the fights we’ve had.”

 

Stiles bites his lip. He’s known this would come up. Even with the loss of his memories, Derek still has this hate for his father. “He’s overprotective.”

 

“Do you think I’d do something like that to you? To Leo? Just disappear?”

 

“No, not…not if you could help it.”

 

“Not if I could help it?”

 

“My mom loved us, she just…she needed more than we could give. Then we were.”

 

“Your mother made a _selfish_ decision.” Derek corrects, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “And to walk away from her family? She had a choice and she choose herself. How can your father not see that? He excuses her behavior but punishes me? When I never left?”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Stiles turns towards the window, watching the blur of streetlights.

 

“You know it’s not true, right? A Were can mate and remain faithful to a human. I know the mythological bullshit that’s floating around but there is no pull of a true mate unless _you act on it_ first. You mother would have had to—”

 

“Stop it.”

 

“I’m trying to—”

 

“Stop!” Stiles can’t breathe, heart constricting tightly in his chest. “I get it, okay? So, stop.”

 

They pass the rest of the ride home in silence, Derek’s jaw tight and eyes focused on the road. Stiles is drained, he can’t stop the past insecurities; can’t stop seeing Derek with someone else.

 

The moment they pull into the garage, Stiles heads upstairs, leaving Derek to put Leo down for the night. He burrows under the covers, listening to the sounds of Leo’s babbling and splashing water. It goes quiet after a moment and Stiles hears the soft click of the nursery door being closed.

 

Stiles is lying in bed, eyes fixed to the ceiling when Derek knocks on the door. He doesn’t wait for an invitation to come in. He looks contrite but confused.

 

“I’m not sure what the fuck happened tonight but, I pissed you off somehow and I didn’t mean to.”

 

“You didn’t.” Stiles lies, turning unto his side. “I’m tired.”

 

Derek stands there awkwardly.

 

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

 

“I’m tired, Derek…”

 

“I don’t mean sex.” Derek tugs his shirt over his head, pulling the bed sheets back to climb in. He moves close, arms going around him. Stiles can feel the rhythmic beat of his heart, his palm covers the mate mark on the inside of his thigh and instantly Stiles is at ease. “Sleep.”

______________________

 

Derek stands at the window, staring up at the moon as it’s dappled light covers him. He wills himself to change, searches for his wolf beneath the surface but he’s impotent. Nothing comes. Not even with the moon heavy in the sky.

 

Stiles is fast asleep in bed, snoring quietly.

 

Although he’s said it countless times in therapy, tonight is the first time he starts to believe it. He may never get himself back. He may never be a Werewolf again.

 

“Derek Hale, if you don’t get back in bed _right_ now.”

 

Derek forces a smile and turns from the window.

 

But Stiles is still asleep, sheets over his head and bare feet hanging over the edge of the bed.

 

Derek’s blood runs cold.

 

The voice is coming from across the hall.

 

His bedroom.

 

Cautious, Derek pushes open the door, peers out into the hallway and gasps as he collides with a ghostlike Spector. It goes right through him, knocks the breath from his lungs.

 

Derek spins around only to see himself walking down the hall. Another version of him, one wearing black jeans and a leather jacket.

 

Derek stands there for a few seconds stunned, watches the figure turn to head down the stairs. After a split second of hesitation, Derek follows. He follows the figure into the den, past the gym and into his home office.

 

Other Derek is talking to someone, cellphone pressed to his ear as he whispers.

 

There’s no pain, although Derek expects it, no black vomit or blood, but he’s nauseous when he hears the Other Derek say her name.

 

Paige.

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

Stiles wakes up hot and sore, face smushed and cheek wet. He stretches blissfully unaware of where he is for the first few moments before he realizes that he’s on top of Derek, knee jammed up between his legs.

 

Embarrassed, Stiles wipes away the small puddle of drool on Derek’s chest. Real smooth, real sexy, Stilinski.

 

“Morning.”

 

Stiles’ eyes fly up and meet Derek’s. The other man is wide awake, cheeks scruffy and hair tousled. He looks like a Calvin Klein model and Stiles has spent the night drooling all over him. Fuck his life.

 

“Sorry about…” Stiles waves vaguely down at his chest. Belatedly, he wipes it away with a corner of the flat sheet. “I must’ve been snoring.”

 

“It was cute.”

 

“Cute?” Stiles sits up, moving off Derek’s lap but is stopped by a strong hand at his hip. “Only you could find drool cute.”

 

“I’ll show you how cute I find it.”

 

Morning breath and all, it’s amazing sex.

 

________________________

 

The bar isn’t crowded, not yet anyway. Derek knows that it will fill up soon. That’s why he corners Boyd while the rest of the crew is on prep. He’s been thinking about Paige all night, thinking about what he saw. The Other Derek had been in the new house, that had to have been a recent memory and he said her name.

 

“Another call out?” Boyd asks when he comes into the back office.

 

“No call out, but even if there was, I have that dinner with Santa thing Stiles wants to take Leo to.”

 

“That’s great.” Boyd nods in approval. “You two seem to be good.”

 

“I think we are.”

 

That seems to be the extent of conversation Boyd’s willing to offer. He gets back to the computer, typing away and completely ignoring the fact Derek is still standing there.

 

“I ever talk to you about Paige?”

 

“Not this again.”

 

“I don’t mean.” Derek falters, but he can’t shake the vision he had. He’d seen himself on the phone. With Her. “Did I keep in touch after the turning failed?”

 

“Not that I know of.”

 

The Other Stiles had been real, that memory had been real. It follows that what Derek saw had to have taken place too. But then why would Paige say they hadn’t spoken in ten years. Had he been sneaking around?  Was he the type to do that? Derek doesn’t think he is, but there’s so much shit that he never thought he’d do but does.

 

You’re sneaking around now; a nasty voice reminds him.

 

“Everything okay?” Boyd looks at him concerned. “You seem off?”

 

“I’m fine.” Derek grabs his jacket. “I’m going to head home.”

 

“You do that.”

 

________________________

 

Derek doesn’t go home.

 

Each time, Derek tells himself it will be the last time. But it never is. It doesn’t take long for his resolve to break and he some how begins thinking of her, missing her until the need grows and he picks up the phone.

 

It’s not as if he’s lying to Stiles. He just isn’t telling him where he’s going and Stiles doesn’t ask. He assumes its work or he assumes he’s going for a run. Derek lets him.

 

Paige tosses him a pair of skates. “Look what I found, locked up in storage all these years.”

 

The lake is a white slate, the area devoid of any other people. It’s why Derek chose this location.

 

Derek looks at the ice dubiously. “You sure its frozen through?”

 

“Yes, scared-y cat.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

She grins, waving her hands. “Magic.”

 

It’s a bumpy start. Derek’s always hated ice skating but he’s given into this for her before. Their third date has been at the rink, Derek sufficiently humbled after busting his ass on the ice several times. They skate for several minutes, Derek getting his ice legs and Paige laughing at his first fumbling turns. At some point, even Paige gets tired of freezing her ass off and Derek could kiss her in gratitude when she produces a thermos of hot chocolate. He’s not a fan of cocoa but it’s hot enough that he fills the disposable cup to the brim.

 

The liquid warms his cold hands and when he drinks it, the turmoil he’s been feeling dulls.

 

“Paige?” He watches her reaction carefully. “When was the last time I spoke to you?”

 

Her cheeks are pink, lips tinged blue. “Why are you asking?”

 

“Just thinking about it.”

 

Paige stares at him, silently inquisitive. “I’ve answered this question before.”

 

“Isla!”

 

Derek hears the call too late, sees the little girl skid across the ice laughing only seconds before her father comes running after her. Derek doesn’t have time to move, doesn’t have time to formulate an excuse before Boyd is standing in front of him.

 

“Derek.” Boyd frowns, his eyes drop and Derek moves his hand from Paige’s quickly. He didn’t remember taking it. “Paige.” It coms a beat too late to be sincere. “It’s nice to see you.”

 

“Yeah.” Paige gets to her feet. “Been a long time.”

 

“Going on ten years.” Boyd looks at Paige and then back to Derek, his expression one of disappointment. The judgmental tone is obvious. “How long have you been back in town?”

 

“Never left, not really. I’m in Helena.”

 

“Oh wow!” Isla interrupts, running between them to point excitedly. “Daddy look at her skates!”

 

“Top of the line.” Paige turns a tight figure eight and Isla claps in delight. “But I don’t know if they can beat your purple glitter.”

“You look like an ice princess.”

 

“Issie.” Boyd pulls Isla back by her pink hood. “Why don’t you go back down to Mommy and let her know we can’t skate today.”

 

 _Erica is here_ , Derek panics.

 

“But Daddy! You promised.” Her smile dissolves, tears welling. “You said—”

 

“Isla, now!”

 

Once Isla disappears down the sloping trail, Boyd inclines his head, tone carefully blank. “Derek, a word?”

 

Before Derek can move, Paige skates away. “I’ll leave you boys to it.”

 

The two men sit in silence for several beats.

 

“Derek, what the fuck, man?”

 

“It’s not what it looks like.”

 

“Don’t give me that cliché bullshit. What the fuck did I just walk in on? You’re fucking around on your mate? Have you lost your damn mind?”

 

“There’s nothing going on, not that I owe you any fucking explanation. She’s my friend.”

 

“You do when you’re fucking using me as an alibi! _Been working at the bar most nights_ , huh?” Boyd spits in disgust. “You stupid, fucking idiot!”

 

“Watch your mouth.” Derek pushes right back, it’s better to be defensive then to try and explain what he been doing when he doesn’t know himself. “I’m still your Alpha.”

 

“I’m not going to be a part of whatever the hell this is! I’m not lying for you.” Boyd snorts. “You’re sneaking around with Paige! _Paige_. On what planet, in what dimension will this end well?”

 

“I’m not fucking around on him.”

 

“Didn’t look like that from where I was standing. What if someone saw you two? What if Erica came up before me? You think she’d keep her mouth shut? You have amnesia, it blows, I get it, but man the fuck up, alpha. Beacon Hills is a small town, people are going to start noticing! You’re risking your family, your _mate_ and son…and for what? A memory?”

 

“She’s more than that.  Paige is--”

 

“I don’t even care.” Boyd throws his hands up, backing away. “Just leave me out of your lies.”

____________________

 

The holiday scene on display at _The Christmas Tree Shoppe_ has been transported into their home.  There are mini Santa Clauses on the end tables and a Douglas Fir propped up against the fire place. Lining the hallway are several boxes of colorful ornaments, blinking lights are twined through the stair railing with gold ribbon and hand-crafted angels on silver wire cover the hearth and mantel. Derek is in the middle of it all, stretched up on the step ladder while frantically stringing lights around the crown molding.

 

“Um.” Stiles may be in _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_ because his Derek doesn’t do this.  Since they’ve been together, since Stiles has known him, Derek has never gotten into the holiday spirit. They both are ambivalent. The holidays remind Derek of the family he lost.  “Uhm…whatcha doin’?”

 

Derek has a childlike excitement in his eyes, cheeks ruddy. “Decorating.”

 

“I can see that.” Stiles scratches the back of his head. The lights over the doorway are blinking in a synchronized show. “Where’d you get all this stuff?”

 

“You don’t like it?”

 

“I don’t not like it.”

 

“It’s too much.”

 

“You may be going a _teeny_ , tiny bit overboard.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“But it is Leo’s first Christmas and he does deserve to be spoiled rotten.”

 

Derek grins, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I think so.”

 

“What are your plans?”

 

“If it’s good on your end, can we do Christmas morning here?”

 

“Sure, I can tell the pack—”

 

“I meant just the three of us.”

 

Stiles hesitates, trying to get his treacherous heart under control. His father will be disappointed but he can’t bring himself to say no. “I’d like that.”

____________________

 

“Wow.” The sheriff’s mouth twists into a smirk when he comes into the house. Pandora has been set to Christmas music and _Baby Its Cold Outside_ is playing. He shakes the snow off his boots, eyebrows rising to his hair line as he sets down a large giftbag.  “Place is a regular winter wonderland.”

 

“Leo’s first Christmas and all.” Stiles swears his cheeks hurt from smiling hard all day. “Derek got a little too into the holiday spirit.”

 

“And where is my favorite grandson?”

 

“Doesn’t count if he’s your _only_ grandson. We were in the middle of giving him a bath, threw up all over himself.” The gift bag his father hands him contains some robotic singing dog. “Where’s my present?”

 

John slaps a twenty-dollar bill into his palm.

 

“You’re kidding.”

 

“I’m joking.” John laughs. “Check under the dog.”

 

It’s a new watch, slim and modern with a metal body and smart leather band. Stiles loves it. “I’m still keeping the twenty dollars.”

 

“You’re not supposed to open your gift until Christmas.”

 

“It’s a day away, Dad, I think I’m fine.”

 

“Are you going to come by the department’s Holiday party?

 

Stiles makes a face. “No thanks.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because it’s lame, sorry, not to hurt your feelings but I can’t listen to Mrs. Higgins do one more rendition of Santa Baby. I won’t survive it.”

 

“But it’s _tradition_.”

 

“Maybe next year, Derek’s doing a New Year’s Eve thing at the bar.”

 

“So, he gets New Years _and_ Christmas.”

 

“Dad…you sound super crazy right now.” Stiles pats his cheek in consolation. “Tell you what, want Leo for New Years?”

 

“You’re just looking for a babysitter.”

 

“Kinda.”

 

“I’ll check with Mel, she should be able to take him, but I’m going to be on patrol downtown.”

 

“Since when are you a beat cop?”

 

“I volunteered so Higgins can take the night off, you know Carly is about to give birth at any minute.”

 

“Well, be careful all the crazies come out.” Stiles steers him inside. “There’s egg nog in the kitchen.”

 

In preparation for the Christmas eve party, the bar has been laid out with a giant punch bowl filled to the brim with Stiles’ special egg nog. The special is alcohol.

 

Derek’s bought a ton of the cutesy frozen appetizers and there are pigs in a blanket, crab puffs, breaded shrimp and cheese squares. Stiles ate about a hundred shrimp already, only stopping when Derek chased him out with a spatula.

 

Stiles pours him a generous cup of eggnog. “Here.”

 

“You’re not going to complain about my health?”

 

“Nope, it’s a cup of cheer. So be _cheerful_ tonight.”

 

“I’m cheerful.”

 

“Melissa’s not here to rein you in and I don’t want any arguing with Derek.”

 

“I’ve always been perfectly polite.”

 

“Everyone else will be getting here in a few, and I‘m asking you to be on your absolute best behavior. I don’t want anyone fighting tonight, especially with the pack around.”

 

“Did you give Derek the same talk?”

 

“I think you need it more.”

 

“You’re taking his side?”

 

“There are no sides.” Stiles stresses. “I should’ve said that a long time ago. We’re all a family. Yes, that includes you Grandpa. But dad, this is our house, Derek’s alpha here and he’s been understanding in the past.”

 

“I guess I see where I stand.”

 

“Dad.”

 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to start anything.” John pats him on the shoulder. “I want you to be happy.”

 

The implication is clear but Stiles doesn’t press him. It’s not the time or the place. If his father is willing to call a truce even for a day, he’ll take it.

 

“Good.” Stiles hugs him. “Now, come play with your grandson, watch your fingers though, he’s biting.”

 

____________________

 

“You and Stiles seem to be getting on well.”

 

Derek forces himself to remain relaxed when John comes into the kitchen.  He’s taken over putting out food and shit precisely so he can stay away from him.

 

The man has been shooting him distrustful looks all afternoon. Between that and dodging Boyd’s glares, he’s stretched thin.

 

Purposefully making John wait, Derek takes the garlic bread out of the over, setting it on a rack to cool before he plates the Christmas tree stamped cookies Stiles made, AKA cut off a pre-made log of Pillsbury dough.

 

“Things are good.”

 

“How’s that head of yours?”

 

“Few headaches, can’t complain.” It’s obvious John doesn’t give a shit how Derek feels, but the man doesn’t leave, just continues to lean against the counter, spread out like he owns the place. “Something I can help you with?”

 

“Friendly conversation.”

 

“Doesn’t seem too friendly.”

 

The smile that was more like a grimace disappears.

 

Here it comes.

 

“I’m a father, Derek, I’m sure you can understand where I’m coming from. Stiles isn’t as strong as he makes himself out to be, especially where you’re concerned.”

 

“Get to the point.”

 

“You’re going to hurt him, it’s only a matter of time. For some reason he can’t see it, or refuses to believe it. I’m not sure why you’re playing this game, maybe it’s the house or trying to protect your assets or something … but if you’re one tenth of the good guy you’re trying to pretend to be, you’d leave him be, leave them both be.”

 

Inside of him, his wolf thrashes, cut deep. If Derek could reach it, he knows he’d shift, likely rips the flimsy human to pieces for even suggesting he abandon his cub.

 

John knows what he’s said, there’s no miscommunication. Judging by the look on his face, he wants Derek to lose control. He wants Derek to maybe even attack him, play right into his fucking hands.

 

“Leave them?” Derek pulls off the oven mits, raises to his full height, let the Sheriff see who he’s dealing with. “You mean like your wife, John? Want me to pick up and go like your old lady did you?”

 

The amusement drains from John’s face, and his hands clench into fists.

 

“Here’s what I think.” Derek continues, voice low. “You like to be the victim, like to place all the blame on Caroline for taking off, when you should share it. Truth is, no Were would leave a _worthy_ partner, true mate appearing or not. I remember you _Sheriff_. Liked the bottle, stank of bourbon most times. Can’t really blame her for leaving _that_.”

John’s face has gone white.

 

“The problem isn’t with interspecies mating or a mixed marriage. The problem was that she was sick of being shackled to a fucking drunk.”

 

John pushes off the wall and Derek meets him half way, breathing heavily as he struggles not to hit him.

 

“Derek!” Stiles calls from the kitchen, breaking the standoff.  “The public demands my famous cookies!”

 

“I’m not going anywhere, get that through your head, John.” Derek grabs the serving plate; a cookie falls off and he kicks it wishing it was John’s face. When he heads out, John steps directly in his path. “Move.”

 

“Are you sure there isn’t something you miss from your life before? Maybe, _someone_.”

 

Dread twists in his stomach.

 

“I’ve already asked you politely, you won’t like it if I have to ask again.”

 

John holds his gaze for a beat, then shrugs, moves off to the side. “Try not to work so _late_ , Derek.”

 

____________________

 

 

“He is the biggest let down, ever.” For the first time, Stiles wonders if Leo is a changeling. “Like, seriously.”

 

The letdown is currently sitting in front of the brightly lit Christmas tree, right where Stiles plopped him down, amid his mountain of brightly wrapped presents, expression bewildered and hair in a Derek brushed it induced afro. Although, he looks picture worthy (Stiles has already taken about 500 photographs on his phone) in his elf outfit, complete with turned up, candy-caned striped booties and striped leggings.

 

“He just needs a little help.” Derek considers their son, then gets down on the floor with him. As Leo watches he grabs a medium sized box, shakes it exaggeratedly. “What’s this, Tiger? What’s in here? What’s Daddy doing?”

 

“Daddy’s being desperate.” Stiles replies when Leo continues to give Derek a blank stare, pacifier falling from in his mouth.  “This lack of enthusiasm has to be from you, I was _super_ into Christmas as a kid, like crazy into it. I got dressed up, baked cookies for Santa and woke my dad up at like 1 am.”

 

“I don’t think he’s at the age to really be excited.”

 

“I bet he’d be happy if we mashed bananas up and cheerios for him.” Munching on a chocolate chip cookie, Stiles sits down cross-legged and grabs his father’s gift bag. “Okay, Leonard, this one’s from Grandpa.”

 

Derek grits his teeth, but Leo crawls over to Stiles.

 

Eventually, Leo perks up after Stiles nurses him and bribes him with flashing toys.

 

Most of the haul is for Leo. They’ve got giant teddy bears and a baby sized Baldwin piano courtesy of Lydia. By the time he opens that ginormous box, Leo starts to get hyperactive, pounding on the keys with closed fists when Derek holds him. But the clear winner for favorite toy seems to be the box his motorized BMW came in. Jackson is going to love that.

 

“Twinkle, twinkle little star…” Stiles sings as Leo slaps the keys of the piano. This makes the baby thrilled and he gives Stiles a smile filled with drool. “How I wonder what you are…”

 

Leo slams down on the keys quicker.

 

“I wonder if anyone got us ear plugs.”

 

“Hey!”

 

Once Leo starts smiling and trying to stick things into his mouth, it begins to feel like Christmas.  

 

Tired out after the excitement, Leo curls up in Stiles lap, feet hanging over his thigh as he bats lazily at the beard of Stiles’ hideous Santa sweatshirt. Ugly sweaters are a big deal.

 

“Crazy to think this is his first Christmas.” Stiles rubs his thumb over Leo’s dimpled fist when it wraps around his index finger. “I remember when Leo was just a twinkle in your eye that you were trying to make a reality.”

 

“You didn’t want kids?”

 

“I wanted to wait, being a parent…it was intimidating. Still is. Honestly, you barely had to convince me once I realized how much the world needed another Stiles in it.”

 

“You’re a dork.”

 

“Proud of it.”

 

“Hey.” Derek bumps his shoulder with his own, and hands Stiles a smartly wrapped small box. “Santa got you a thing.”

 

Stiles considers the slim package. “Santa?”

 

“You know what I mean.” Derek nudges him impatiently. “Open it.”

 

Because he’s not going to be an idiot who cries over getting a present, Stiles unwraps the gift slowly.

 

“Do you like it?”

 

Stiles stares down at the necklace, emotion stealing his voice. He nods instead, trying not to cry all over his baby.

 

“You want me to put it on for you?”

 

Because his speech has been reduced to nonexistent caveman like sounds, Stiles nods again. Derek kneels behind him and fastens the delicate clasp.

 

“Looks good on you.”

____________________

 

The crackling fire illuminates Derek’s smiling face. He’s on all fours, nose to nose with Leo. Leo’s got the soppy remains of a sugar cookie in his hand and he’s trying to mash it into Derek mouth. Derek’s laughing. Stiles could watch the two of them interact forever. The memory of Derek, broken and bloody in the hospital bed all those months ago is still clear in his mind.

 

“Think he’s hungry, and the cookie isn’t doing it.”

 

Stiles takes his son, shucking off his shirt in favor of pulling it up. Leo starts to nurse instantly in greedy, strong pulls.  Stiles sighs, unbothered by the initial discomfort. He knows his baby won’t be a baby for much longer. He strokes his downy head, rubbing his neck and Leo hums in contentment.

 

When he looks up, Derek is looking at the two of them.

 

“C’mere.” Derek draws the blanket over them, leaning back on the decorative pillows he’s pulled down from the couch. Stiles settles between his legs, back to his chest

 

Derek touches Leo’s cheek as he breastfeeds.

 

“Where did we go on our first date?”

 

The question catches Stiles off guard. “Why?”

 

Derek shrugs, fingers running up and down Stiles’ forearm.  “Wondering.”

 

“ _Hm_ … see, now that’s up for debate. You would say we went to _The Riverside_ and I would say it was at the library. _Technically_. You asked me out for dinner but then a _helgi_ swept into town. We went to Deaton’s library to research it. And you bought me a pack of peanut m &ms from the vending machine.”

 

“You’re a cheap date.”

 

Stiles grins. “You also bought me a Sprite, so not that cheap.”

 

“I hope the second date went better.”

 

“Marginally.”

 

Stiles leans back, tilting his head up to catch Derek’s expression. “We went to The Riverside and I order everything on the menu.”

 

“Sure, you did.”

 

“I wish I was joking. See, I had this plan: be as annoying as possible so you would get tired of whatever game you were playin’ and leave me be.”

 

“Game?”

 

“You’re an alpha werewolf, everyone knows your type slums it for one reason. In the beginning, I thought you were the same.”

 

“Slum it?” Derek frowns. “Why’d you think of yourself like that?”

 

“It’s not so much me, just the way things are. There’s a hierarchy around here, everyone knows it.”

  
“Well, it’s bullshit.”

Stiles chuckles fondly. “You said that then too. Anyway, the bill was $1,014.78; gratuity not included, but twenty percent was strongly suggested.”

 

“No shit.”

 

“But you paid it with a smile and said I’d get the next one. I got all the leftovers packed up and the veal leaked out into your back seat.” Stiles laughs as he remembers the blotchy red of Derek’s face when he tried to control his horror.

 

“When did you end up believing me?”

 

It’s a shit thing, to grow up feeling like you’re not good enough. To have your own mother reaffirm that feeling by abandoning you. As much as he wishes he could, it’s hard to shake off. Stiles doesn’t think he’ll ever fully believe in himself.

 

“I know that Leo will grow up safe and secure in who he is and how much he’s loved.”

 

If Derek notices he didn’t answer the question, he doesn’t let on.

 

“Let’s play a game.”

 

“A fun game?” Stiles waggles his brow suggestively.  “Leo is nearly asleep.”

 

“Twenty questions.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Do you want to play or not?”

 

“I guess.”

 

“What do you miss most about me?”

 

Stiles is taken aback at how flat it is. Derek doesn’t want to talk about the time he doesn’t remember, it’s one of the unwritten rules to whatever this is.

 

“That’s a tough one right out the gate.”

 

“I’d like to know.”

 

“It’s hard to put in words…uhm, lots of things.”

 

“Top three.”

 

“Your singing in the shower, it was my alarm clock.”

 

“I sing in the shower?”

 

“Not anymore.”

 

“I’ll take your word for it, second thing.”

 

“It’s not really a recent thing, but uhm, when I was pregnant; the way you looked at me, how much you loved my belly. I didn’t have a second to even be self-conscious. You even video...” Stiles catches himself.

 

“I even what?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

Derek snickers. “Is this a sex tape thing?”

 

“You know about those?” Stiles turns around and sees the matching blush on Derek’s face. “Where’d you stash it.”

 

“Y _our_ Derek digitalized it. It’s on his computer.”

 

Stiles turns back around, letting his hand slide down Derek’s leg until he reaches his ankle and exposed skin. He pinches him hard. Derek yelps. “Perve.”

 

“Where’s that tape?”

 

“Yeah, right.”

 

“Just wondering.”

 

“You got to keep your video and I got to keep mine, those were our rules.”

 

Stiles can feel Derek’s smile against his shoulder before the brush of a kiss.

 

“Okay, last one, make it good.”

 

Stiles laughs nervously. “Okay… I guess it would be your worry.”

 

“Worry?”

 

“I’d bitch and call you a mother hen but secretly, I loved it. You cared enough to want to know where I was, how I was feeling and if I ate enough. Stupid shit. I always said it drove me crazy but I was lying. I didn’t need someone to take care of me but…it felt good to know that someone wanted to.”

 

“Was that something you missed growing up?”

 

“Had to be an adult faster than most. My dad was always working and when he wasn’t…my mom leaving broke him. I was the only one there to pick up the pieces. So, when we started hanging out…it was nice to be the one being taken care of.” 

 

Derek’s fingers stop their rhythmic movements on his arms. “I want to take care of you.”

 

Stiles laughs, glad that Derek can’t see his face, he knows his eyes are damp. “Thanks.”

_______________

 

A week later Stiles wakes to burning eyes and a scratchy throat. Derek is sound asleep next to him, chest rising and falling in even breaths. His body can’t figure out if it’s hot or cold. He shivers miserably, sniffling.

 

Fuck.

 

It would be just his shit luck that he’d fall sick on New Year’s Eve.

 

__________________

 

“That blond has been eyeing you for the past ten minutes.”

 

Derek glances over Isaac’s shoulder and sure enough the blonde is still eye fucking him while doing very interesting things to his straw. “I gave him his gin and tonic.”

 

“I think he wants _another_ kind of tonic.”

 

Derek growls, ringing up orders and opening a tab for the rowdy group of giggling beta wolves in tiaras and gold sequined dresses. “He can look elsewhere.”

 

Isaac is dressed in a see through, worn white shirt that keeps slipping off his shoulder. He’s paired it with tight black jeans and a studded belt. He’s clearly working on getting a major tip haul. Bastard doesn’t even need it. His hair has been styled into slick waves and he’s smudged on a bit of eyeliner. Derek had drawn the line when Isaac tried to get at him with the make-up.

 

Getting hit on, Derek has learned, comes with the territory but he really can’t get into it tonight. All he can think about is how miserable Stiles looked when he left. He wishes that he could stay at home with him but they need all hands-on deck. So, Derek left Stiles alone and dropped Leo off at Melissa’s house, pointedly ignoring the Sheriff.

 

“That guy has been dropping fifties since he and the cast of J Crew strolled in.” Isaac nudges him with his hip. “Go bat your eyelashes, wiggle your butt a bit and make _money_.”

 

“Wiggle my _what_?”

 

“You know what you’re working with, sister.”

 

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

 

“You wanted to go on that vacation, right? Do it for baby bambi.”

 

“His name is _Leo_.”

 

“With Stiles’ eyes and your thick Maybelline eye lashes? No, he’s Bambi.”

 

“Hey ladies!” Boyd yells down to them, he’s pouring shots and mixing a well drink without missing a beat.  “If you’re done with your tete a tete, I’m swamped over here.”

 

Derek turns away when Erica presses a kiss to Boyd’s cheek, leaning over the bar in an inhumanely tight gold mini dress and having no problem in wiggling her butt for the crowd. The customers cheer them on and the tips roll in. Derek tries not to feel jealous that they can spend New Year’s together.

 

Twenty minutes to midnight and Derek steps out into the back alley, cell phone in hand. He stares down at it, contemplating whether he should call Stiles. He doesn’t want to wake him if he’s asleep, sleep is the only reprieve Stiles gets from the racking coughs.

 

“I thought I’d find you here.”

 

“Paige.” Derek jumps and quickly pockets his cellphone. She’s leaning against the wall opposite, red dress glimmering in the low flood lights. “What are you doing here?”

 

“It’s New Year’s Eve, I wanted to see you. I know you want to see me.”

 

“Paige, I—”

 

“Sh. I know Stiles isn’t here, so what’s the problem?” Her voice dips, tone indiscernible but unsettling just the same. “I never thought we’d be in this place again, have a chance to be _us_ again. After everything that happened, I was beginning to think it was impossible.”

 

This is wrong, her words are wrong, but Derek can’t move.

 

“Paige, listen to me—”

 

“I don’t think I ever stopped caring for your Derek, ever stopped loving you. I pretended to hate you for so long, that I even fooled myself, but these past months.” She steps closer, hand against his chest, looking up at him. Her eyes are so big under the moonlight, large and black, Derek feels like he’s drowning in their depths. “Now that we have a second chance…”

 

Derek remembers before. He remembers seeing her for the first time, sitting on the red brick school steps, lips stretched into a wide smile as the wind lifted her dark hair. The sunlight had been bright enough to hurt, the electricity that went through him when she turned and their eyes met. And her smile had knit something together in him, found the lonely pieces and filled them until he was whole.

 

Paige kisses him.

 

There’s nothing comforting in it, no memories.

 

Derek abruptly ends the kiss, firmly placing his hands on her shoulders and moving away.

 

“What?” She asks, gaze seeking, uncomprehending.  “What’s wrong?”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“You can, Derek.” Paige murmurs. “Soon, you’ll realize what I already know.”

 

She kisses him again, and this time he doesn’t step away, feels rooted to the spot. Her lips are soft where Stiles’ are slightly chapped, she tastes like strawberries and all he can think of is the faint taste of sugary coffee Stiles drinks. Paige breaks the kiss, smiling up at him knowingly before she walks off the way she came.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

_________________________

 

Stiles snuffles, burrowing further under the covers when Derek slides in behind him in bed. The bedside lamp had been left on and Derek switches it off before laying on his side.

 

Drawn by his body heat, Stiles presses closer, sighing in contentment when Derek lays an arm over him.

 

“Time is it?”

 

“Past midnight.” Derek presses a kiss to the back of his neck, wincing when Stiles lets out a deep cough. He rubs his back in a circular motion until the fit passes. “Happy New Year.”

 

“Happy New Y-year.”

 

The cough continues and Derek grabs the suppressant from the night stand, pouring a capful before holding it to Stiles’ lips so he can drink. Derek settles him against his chest, trying not to be worried by how clammy Stiles is. He wishes he could take some of his discomfort away, he should be able to. As his mate, it’s his duty and he can’t even give Stiles that.

 

But Derek can stop himself from causing him pain.

 

Boyd was right; he won’t see Paige again.

 

_________________________

 

When Derek returns home from work the following night, Stiles leaps up from the couch to launch himself into Derek’s arms, pushing him down on the leather couch to straddle his hips happily. “Happy New Year, Alpha.”

 

Derek rolls his eyes and kisses him. “To late for that.” His threads his fingers through Stiles’ thick hair, deepening the playful kiss. “Feeling better?”

 

“Feel great.”

 

“Good.”

 

“I’m calling a do-over.” Stiles murmurs, his tongue moving forward in quick darting strokes, licking his way into Derek’s mouth. “You know they say that whatever you do NYE sets the tone for the entire year.” He grinds down on Derek’s lap. “Let’s set the tone.”

 

Derek’s fingers skate over his chest, coaxing his nipples into hard nubs and Stiles moans breathlessly. That’s all the invitation Derek needs, he tears Stiles’ shirt open, sucking a pink nipple into his mouth hungrily.

 

“You taste so good.” Derek groans, letting the taste roll over his tongue. “Always do.”

 

“Want you in my mouth, alpha.” Stiles moves away, climbing off Derek’s lap to slowly come to his knees in between his wide spread legs. His slender fingers stroke the hard ridge of the older man’s cock through his jeans.

 

“Fuck yes.” Derek breathes, trembling when Stiles mouths him through the denim, heat soaking in to make him grow even harder.

 

“You nice and hard for me?” Nimble fingers undo Derek’s fly, slipping into the slit of his boxers to thumb the swollen head of his cock. Stiles laps hungrily against the head, swiping through pre-come.

 

Derek settles back unto the couch, one hand in Stiles’ hair as the other hurriedly pulls down his boxers, freeing his entire straining length.

 

Stiles sucks just the tip into his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks to increase the suction.   The only sound in the room are Stiles moans and the squelching sounds of sucking. Derek bites his bottom lip hard, reaching for the pain to ground him as he struggles not to come just from how hungry Stiles is for his cock, the way he chokes on it and takes it deep into his throat. 

 

Stiles does something particularly inventive with his tongue and Derek’s hips jerk up of their own accord. “I’m going to come.”

 

“Then come.”

 

“Not what I have in mind tonight.”

 

“What do you have in mind?” Stiles allows himself to be tugged up to his feet and led into the dark bedroom.

 

Derek gives Stiles a gentle nudge, signaling for him to sit down on the bed. Stiles sits, watching him.

 

“Lay back.”

 

Derek strips off Stiles’ pants and briefs then pushes his legs apart, spreading them wide.

 

“What are you going to do to me?”

 

“Anything I want.” Leaning forward, Derek traces his tongue around the pale, pink rim of Stiles’ hole.

 

“Mm…oh god…Derek, love when you do this.”

 

Derek stabs his tongue into the tight ring of muscle, working his way into the omega’s hot body until Stiles is a trembling mass of limbs. The taste of his slick rushes over his tongue, and Derek can only imagine the heady taste if he could really scent him.

 

“Please.” Stiles mewls, pushing up into his face “Want it so bad.”

 

Derek gets to his knees, and doesn’t waste time. Stiles turns unto his hands and knees but Derek flips him back over unto his back. A frown creases Stiles’ forehead but he doesn’t protest when Derek hoists his legs up over his shoulders. He roughly slams into him, teeth biting down on the irresistible slope of his mate’s neck. He thrusts in and out in a punishing rhythm, swallowing Stiles’ cries.

 

“Oh alpha…” Stiles pants and Derek fucks into him harder, his hips blurring as they pick up speed.  “Fuck, deeper.”

 

Sweat beads at Derek’s hairline, his broad shoulders shaking with the effort it takes not to lose his control entirely. Derek pulls out until just the head of his cock is stretching Stiles open. Derek can feel everything, every muscle spasm and breath as he clenches around him.

 

Knowing he’s close, Derek fists Stiles’ leaking cock quickly, and fucks him through it, watching as he comes, white and hot across his abdomen.

 

Derek’s licks Stiles’ come from his skin and at the salty sweet taste he’s pushed over the edge, hips pumping furiously as he floods Stiles’ channel with his seed.

 

Stiles is still gasping for breath, his legs sprawled wide. Derek’s eyes zero in on the wetness glistening in between his legs. Derek’s come is leaking out of Stiles’ puffy, used hole, each twitch the muscle gave producing more fluid. A hot bolt of desire shot through him. Fuck if that isn’t the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

 

“How was that for setting the tone?”

 

“Not bad for a first try.” Stiles yawns, snuggling against him.  He drops a quick kiss to Derek’s chest closing his eyes. “Next time put some effort in.”

 

Derek laughs, arms tightening around Stiles. “Says the one who passed out.”

For the first time since this whole thing started Stiles hadn’t given him his back, had looked at him during, known it was Derek, this Derek inside of him.

 

It’s something he can get used to, and if he’s honest? Something he wants to have for a very long time to come.

 

__________________________

 

“Ta-dah! As promised.” Stiles sets the photo of Leo, red-faced and screaming on Santa Claus’ lap down on his Dad’s desk. “You should frame it.”

 

John leans back in his chair., hands folded over his chest. “Nice little stunt you pulled the other day.”

 

Stiles feigns ignorance. This is the reason why he avoided the BHPD’s holiday party; too many gossips. “What stunt?”

 

John glowers. “Don’t play dumb.”

 

“ _Dad_.”

 

“Always good to hear my deputy tell me about my son getting busted for public indecency.”

 

“It was a kiss.”

 

“A kiss?”

 

“Just a little kiss.” Stiles squirms a bit, feeling like he did in high school when he would get caught sneaking back into his bedroom covered in hickeys. “He’s my husband dad.”

 

“It was one kiss?”

 

Stiles nods.

 

“Then it was a lapse in judgement.”

 

“Not a lapse, Dad, we’re sorta dating.”

 

His father sits down, frown deepening. “Dating?”

 

“It makes sense, ok? We can relearn one another, take things slow—”

 

“That’s not a good idea.”

 

“Derek is trying.”

 

“Is that what he’s been telling you?”

 

“I know he is, and if you can’t be supportive then I guess there’s nothing left to say.”

 

“There’s something you should know.”

 

__________________________________

 

 

Dr. Gianfranco looks more like a high school student than a decorated professional. She’s tiny, barely reaches Derek’s chin and speaks quickly, tripping over words like an excited teenager. If Deaton hadn’t been there, looking at her in awe, Derek would think this is the wrong person.

 

“I do have a sample of the specimen.” Deaton ushers her over to the petri dish already underneath a microscope. “My notes are right beside it, should you wish to see my insight.”

 

No one invites Derek over so he stands there against the wall, feeling a cool breeze against his bare ass. He feels like an idiot, almost regretting his decision to come here. He hasn’t even had the vomiting since that one night, and the occasional bloody noses? He can deal with it. But then he thinks of Stiles, depending on him, and here he is.

 

The harsh click of the slide being shut rings through the room and Dr. Gianfranco strides over, the prior gregariousness gone.

 

“Up you go.” She instructs, lilting accent all business now. “Lay back and breathe in when I tell you to; in through your nose and out your mouth.”

 

Wearing nothing but the hospital gown, Derek sits down on the examining table, cautious. She pokes and prods him in silence for the next twenty minutes.

 

“How old are you?”

 

“Twenty- four, I mean thirty-”

 

“You’re thirty-four.” She cuts him off. “Breathe in through four breaths, out in six.”

 

“I forget sometimes.”

 

“Tell me about what you did last week.”

 

Derek does, he tries to skip some of the more mundane parts but Dr. Gianfranco must sense he’s skimping and makes him begin again. She repeats this entire process, circling down to earlier dates before abruptly asking him about the day his son was born.

 

“I don’t remember.”  She must know that.

 

“Try.”

 

Derek thinks of the photos he’s seen: the pale blue of the birthing pool and the grey undershirt Stiles wore soaked in sweat. “I don’t remember.”

 

“Breathe in through your nose, out on four counts.” Her voice is hard now, cold. Her eyes are glittering black pools, hypnotizing. It hits him then that she’s not entirely human. “You were there Derek. How can you forget that? What kind of alpha does that make you?”

 

Even though he knows what she’s doing, Derek can feel his pulse kick up a notch. He knows the pain that awaits if he pushes himself. He looks at Deaton, but the older man doesn’t contradict her.

 

“I… in the pictures, I’m in the pool with them.” Derek closes his eyes, focuses on his breathing like she says. “Deaton brought the pool, Stiles said.”

 

“Were you happy when you became a father?”

 

“I looked happy in the pictures, fucking proud. Uh, excuse me.”

 

“That’s alright.” Her tone never changes, that same smooth intonation. “You didn’t look proud, you _were_ proud, focus on that feeling, focus on that moment.”

 

“Stiles must have been in agony, a fox birthing a wolf is difficult.”

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“I’ve read it.”

 

“When?”

 

True panic sets in, he doesn’t know, but it had to have been from before. The pain rises, the way it always does, when he tries to remember. Derek recoils from it as it intensifies, but the Doctor won’t let him retreat. She asks him, over and over, again and Derek tries and tries until his teeth grit against the agony and he can feel blood trickling from his nose as his body seizes.

 

“Enough.” That’s Deaton’s voice, closer. “Francesca, he’s had enough.”

 

“Mr. Hale is now my patient, I say when.”

 

Their voices fade into nothingness and when Derek feels like he’s on the brink of falling off the void, the Doctor’s voice pounding through his skull, something sharp stabs into his chest, inches from his heart.

 

Derek seizes as whatever drug is pumped into his veins and then goes mercifully limp.

 

“Breathe in through your mouth, out through your nose, four counts.” Her hands are on his forehead, grounding him as Derek slips into something not unlike unconsciousness.

 

Although his mind is a void, he can feel _something_ , like he’s scratching at a wall that refuses to break. There’s someone on the other side. Through the silence he hears the howl of his wolf, the strain of its impotency.

 

Derek opens his eyes and finds himself in a dark room, blue-black night shrouding everything around him. There’s forest on all sides, stillness in the deep woods. He can’t hear anything, can’t see more than a few inches in front of his face.

 

Unsure of where he is and how he got there, Derek doesn’t move, until he feels _it_. The nudge of a cold snout against his palm. He looks behind him, and there it is, large black wolf looming, eyes bleeding alpha red.

 

There he is.

 

The wolf nudges him once more and Derek takes the first faltering steps. He walks and walks, the hulking wolf beside him until he reaches a clearing. He’s been here before.

 

Derek turns and the wolf is gone. In his place is the Other Stiles, the one who was in his house. He shimmers in the dark, golden swirls of light casting out the shadows. The Other Stiles doesn’t speak, doesn’t move and Derek can only stare as he grows dimmer.

 

His light nearly gone, Derek stumbles to the tree, digs around in the hollow of the trunk to strike a match. The flint falters and then burns bright. The Other Stiles is gone and in his place a creature of easily ten feet made entirely of crawling things. What serves as it’s skin is moving, covered in insects and hair of twisted snakes. It’s mouth is a gaping hole, a black void that opens to swallow him whole.

 

Derek stares into the abyss; Other Stiles is drowning in its depths.

 

Derek gasp back into consciousness. He’s on the examining table, chest and chin covered in black, viscous vomit and blood.

 

“Welcome back.” Dr. Gianfranco says quietly, fingers still on his brow. They’re cold. “Don’t try to move.”

 

If Derek could move, he’d be out the door, but he’s too weak. “What did you inject me with?”

 

“A mild accelerant mixed with Sage. Normally, it should have a very minor effect.”

 

“Can you help me?”

 

She shakes her head. “You don’t need a Doctor, Mr. Hale. You need a mage.”


	7. Chapter 7

__________­­­­­______________

 

“I’ll be in touch.” Dr. Gianfranco promises. Her expression simultaneously fascinated and horrified; like when bystanders stare at car accidents and wait for the ensuing fire. “Be careful.”

 

“Of what?”

 

It’s what no one is addressing.

 

Someone did this to him, and they must have a reason.

 

Or a grudge.

 

Or _something_.

 

The blinds move, and Derek knows Dr. Deaton is watching from his office.

 

“You’re bound by powerful magic, Derek, _black magic_ , very few creatures on earth have the ability to bind an alpha Werewolf, and keep them bound.”

 

“So, I’m a sitting duck? Until this fucking demon decides to quit toying with me and finishes me off?”

 

“It would be much simpler if this is a demon.”

 

“How do you know it’s not?”

 

“If it is, it’s like none I’ve seen.” Her dark eyes study him critically. “But the mage will arrive in Beacon Hills within the week. Until then, try and think of any occurrence that was out of the ordinary.”

 

“How am I supposed to do that? Post a craigslist add? I own a bar and I’m _married with a kid_. I don’t have any enemies. There’s no double life or covert activities that would lead to this.”

 

“What do you remember before your accident?”

 

 

“Nothing.”  There are fragments that flit in and out of his mind but barring the visions, nothing. “I woke up in the hospital. I don’t even remember crashing my car.”

 

“Then that’s where you start: the car accident. Have you seen the reports?”

 

Derek never thought to ask. “No.”

 

“Get them and in the meantime, there is a way to navigate this… whatever it is.” She opens a small traveling case and produces translucent stones, each one no bigger than his palm. “The things you saw when you were unconscious, you were able to interact with them, you sensed your wolf?” Derek nods. “Then you know who did this to you; you just have to find them.” She touches her finger to his temple. “In here.”

 

“What if I can’t remember?”

 

“If it is a demon, the only way to make you whole again is to sever the tie and for that, the mage will need to know who is holding the strings.”

 

The stones are warm when she presses them into his hand, jumping and bursting with color as they meet his skin.  The heat surprises him, the rhythm he can feel, like the steady beat of a pulse, unnerves him. He squeezes one rock experimentally and is rewarded with a burst of electricity that travels through his forearm.

 

Derek’s eyes close.

 

“You’re safe.” Her voice sounds like its coming through a wind tunnel. “These are blessed stones; keep them on your person always. If you have an episode, they will safeguard so you can follow to its conclusion. Open your eyes.” She says softly, and when Derek does he sees one stone has melded into an inky black, all color leached into its depths. “Do you see? The curse.”

 

“My family.” If someone did this to him, then Stiles or Leo could be in danger. “I need to protect them.”

 

She shakes her head. “Tell no one.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Often with magic, ignorance affords protection. We want to keep whatever it is, whoever it is, focused on you.”

 

Derek swallows hard; tries not to give in to fear.

_________­­­­­______________

 

“I’m going to kick her ass!” Erica rages, every inch the she-wolf. Her elongated claws skitter across the table, scarring the wood in deep gouges. “That _bitch_. That fucking, _manipulative_ bitch! She took advantage of—”

 

“She didn’t do anything.” It’d be easy to be angry at Paige, but Stiles can’t and won’t delude himself any longer. It’s his fault for being stupid, for trusting Derek when he hadn’t tried to hide. “Derek is the one who went looking for h-her.”

 

Stiles voice breaks on the last word and Lydia comes running.

 

The hug Lydia gives him is full of pity.  “Stiles.” She strokes his hair and Stiles stops himself from resuming the waterworks, but just barely. “What are you going to do?”

 

“I don’t know. I can’t… I can’t think past the next five minutes.”

 

“And Leo?”

 

“I don’t…I don’t know, but I won’t keep them apart.” That’s one thing he’s sure of. “Derek loves him.”

 

“He loves you too.”  Erica insists, claws receding. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, or what your father thinks he saw but I have faith in our alpha. There’s got to be an explanation.”

 

“What he _thinks_ he saw?” Stiles’ eyes burn with hurt and humiliation. “They were sucking face outside of his bar, on _New Year’s Eve_!”

 

“Are you sure she didn’t—”

 

“Dad saw the whole thing.”

 

“Your father isn’t unbiased—”

 

“He _kissed_ her!”  Stiles snarls, viciously enough that she recoils, a partial shift distorting his features. The anger is overshadowing the heartbreak and he holds on to it.  “He’s been sneaking around with her.”

 

“I know you’re hurting.” Erica kneels next to his chair, taking his hand. “I’m not discounting that, but at least give Derek a chance to explain. If he betrayed your trust like that, then fine, he’s a piece of shit and you don’t have to have anything to do with him but there may be some explanation.”

 

“Don’t…it’s not going to change anything.” Stiles yanks his arm away and hides his face in the crook of his arm, shoulders trembling as he fights a losing battle. “Derek …you know, when he woke up?” He struggles to get the words out, sobs choking him. “He asked how he ended up with someone like me. Not me, but someone like _me_ …”

 

Derek is beautiful and alpha, and wolf and Stiles is a fox who looks like an over grown Disney star. After the meth addiction. Why would Derek choose to be with him?  Especially now that Paige is back in his life. That’s probably what kept him before. Paige wouldn’t take him back, so he settled.

 

“Don’t do this to yourself.” Lydia looks close to tears herself. “Don’t.”

 

“I’m not s-saying anything.”

 

She lifts his face up, thumbs wiping away the stupid tears. “You’re the one who is too good for Derek Hale.”

 

Before she can go further, Stiles hears Boyd calling for Erica.

 

“We’re in here!” Erica yells back, hand settling over Stiles’ shoulder protectively.

 

“Stiles, you’ve been here the whole time?” Boyd accuses, he pauses looking at the betas hovering. “Derek’s been trying to reach you for the past hour, man. He’s worked himself up pretty good. You need to call him.”

 

Working late.

 

At the bar.

 

But Boyd is Stiles’ friend.

 

He would’ve said something, he wouldn’t have lied for Derek, he wouldn’t…

 

“Did you know?” Lydia demands, beating Stiles to it. “About her?”

 

“Who?”

 

“Paige!”

 

Boyd is a deer in headlights.

 

“I…” Boyd trails off guiltily. “What?”

 

“The working late.” Stiles elaborates. “The _lying_. The sneaking around behind my back to see her.”

 

“I didn’t, not at first but…” Boyd’s shoulders slump, his eyes going to the floor. Erica looks genuinely shocked. “I’m sorry, but Derek _swore to me that_ there was nothing going on—”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Stiles, he’s my Alpha, his word is---”

 

“Good to know where I stand in this pack.”  Stiles feels sick to his stomach. He reaches blindly for his keys and cell phone, he can feel the slow trickle of tears going down his cheeks. He hates being weak, hates showing just how much Derek has destroyed him. “This _family_.”

 

“Stiles, I—”

 

But he’s already out the door, ignoring their calls.

 

________________________

 

The numbers on the digital clock flip to 11:47 PM and Derek is livid.  He’s been texting and calling Stiles but has received no response. The weight of the stones in his pocket a constant reminder of the unknown danger. He would’ve called the police had Boyd not advised him that Stiles was at his place.

 

When the front door opens, Derek stomps to the foyer, ready for a fight

 

“Oh.” Stiles says flatly, his lips twist into a humorless smile. “I thought you’d be working late.”

 

There are no injuries, no blood but Derek knows something is wrong. Boyd indicated as much over the phone.

 

“Where’ve you been?”

 

“Out.”

 

The anxiety and concern are eclipsed by anger.

 

“I called you, _dozens_ of times.”

 

Unfazed, Stiles brushes past and Derek frowns at the quake of his fingers when they grip the brass railing of the stairs.

 

Derek follows him into the spare bedroom. “Are you alright?”

 

Stiles nods, still not looking at him. “Peachy.”

 

Derek studies the tense lines of Stiles’ back, the reason for the silence dawning. “Where’s Leo?”

 

“With my father.”

 

“Why?”

 

Stiles opens the closet and pulls a black duffle bag down from the shelf. He walks into the nursery. The sick feeling in Derek’s stomach builds as he watches him toss Leo’s clothing, blankets, bibs and socks into the bag. He’s a man possessed, ripping open the drawers and shoving the contents indiscriminately into the suitcase.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Packing our shit.” Stiles’ voice is devoid of all emotion; empty. “What’s it look like?”

 

“What the fuck is going on with you?” Derek asks bewildered, grabbing the strap of the duffle bag. “I don’t know how things worked before but you can’t disappear for hours! I was worried, and let me tell you---”

 

“No, let _me_ tell _you_ something.” Stiles growls, the fury in his tone takes Derek aback. He shoves the bag into Derek’s abdomen. He gets right in Derek’s face, close enough that Derek can see the hint of a beta shift, the russet at the crown of his head, the hint of sharp teeth. “You want to know how things worked before? _You weren’t an asshole who snuck out on me to fuck your girlfriend._ ”

 

The ground shifts beneath Derek’s feet and it feels like his knees are going to buckle, because he knows, he knew when he met with her that it wasn’t okay. He lied and now, somehow, his secret has been exposed.

 

And Stiles is packing his things.

 

“Who told you?”

 

Stiles gives a dull laugh. “Not even going to deny it?”

 

“There’s nothing to deny!”

 

“I’m _sure_.” Stiles eyes are bright, bruised and it makes Derek’s chest ache to realize he’s been crying. “You’re free to see her whenever you want now.”

 

The blood in Derek’s veins turns to ice. Stiles is leaving him, he’s packing up their life and leaving. “Stiles, listen to me. We only talked. I… I was looking for something familiar, a _friend_ , that’s all.”

 

Stiles stops shoving clothes into the bag, thin shoulders shaking.  He looks small under the fluorescent light, head bowed.

 

Derek wishes he would look at him.

 

“You just talked?”

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

“Nothing else? You didn’t do anything else?”

 

Derek knows he shouldn’t, but all he can see is Stiles’ pain and he doesn’t want to add in to it. So, he makes a stupid mistake.

 

“Nothing else happened; I swear.”

As soon as Derek says it, he wishes he could take it back. Especially when Stiles’ turns away, expression absolutely wrecked. Instinctively, Derek takes a step toward him and when he does, Stiles takes one back. It feels like he’s been kicked in the stomach. Derek knows without a doubt now that Stiles knows. That he found about the kiss.

The zip on the bag closes with an exacting snap. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

 

Derek grabs for him, for control.

 

Stiles shoves Derek back so hard he's momentarily stunned. His back hits the wall. “I swear to god, Derek, if you put your fucking hands on me one more time—”

 

“I’m trying to make you understand—”

 

“You’re a _liar_. That’s all I need to understand.” Stiles pushes him again and Derek hits the framed landscape. The portrait falls to the ground, glass shattering over the floor. “You’re not as fucking stealthy as you thought.” His voice cracks. “ _Dad_ saw you.”.

 

Derek shakes his head, prays this is a bad dream, but Stiles is very real, his face hard and his eyes cold.

 

“New Year’s Eve.” Stiles continues in that same disconnected voice. “Kissing her in a fucking alley while I lay at home, _in our bed_ , sick and waiting for you.”

 

Derek flinches. He tries to think of something, anything, but the words don’t come. There’s nothing he can say to make this okay. In the wake of his silence, Stiles leaves.

 

Frantic, Derek goes after him, slipping on the landing. “It meant nothing, Stiles, I promise you—”

 

“Stop.” Stiles wrenches open the front door. “Enjoy your freedom.”

**____________________**

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“Fine.” Stiles hefts the duffle over his shoulder and runs upstairs, pretending not to hear his Dad call. He can’t face him, not when he’s still so raw. His father always knew it would end this way. Stiles had been stupid to believe otherwise.

 

Safely hidden in his bedroom, Stiles collapses on the bed and allows himself to break.

 

All he can think about is Derek. How he fell for him all over again only to have his heart ripped to pieces.  He blinks furiously against the tears, but they fall rapidly.

 

Don’t cry, Stiles tells himself, don’t cry.

 

_"What does it say?"_

_“Kit, we’re having a baby!”_

_The joy that floods Stiles is otherworldly, heady like a high. “Why am I crying?”_

_Derek laughs. “Why am **I** crying?”_

_“We’re going to be parents; we’re actually doing this.”_

_Derek presses his palm over Stiles’ flat stomach. “I hope it’s a fox, a girl with your eyes.”_

_“I just want them to be healthy, fox or wolf.”_

_“You sound like a Momma, already.” Derek grins, cradling Stiles’ face between his palms. “I love you so much, you know that?”_

 

It won’t stop, and more tears roll down Stiles’ cheeks, blurring his vision and damping the pillow.

_"Kit," Derek coaxes gently. "Talk to me. Why do you keep pushing me away? You want this… don’t you?"_

_"I do…” Stiles trembles on an exhale. "I'm just… I've never been in love and I'm falling for you. I'm scared that I'm gonna get my heart broken."_

_"I can’t promise you perfect, but I can promise to love you."_

 

Stiles curls in on himself, shoving the corner of his pillow into his mouth, trying to stifle the sounds of his sobbing.

 

_Derek leans in, pressing his lips to Stiles’ forehead in a soft kiss._

 

_“Do you know how much I love you?”_

 

_“We’ve already played this game. I’ve been declared the victor.”_

_“I want a re-match.”_

_Stiles sticks out his tongue, laughing when Derek bites down on it gently. “You’re a sappy, old man.”_

_“You married this old man.”_

_“I did.” Stiles murmurs around a yawn. Derek’s beautiful smile is back again, his cheek is on the pillow and he’s looking at Stiles. “I love you, Mr. Hale, to infinity and beyond, through grey skies and blue.”_

_“I love you, too.” Derek cups Stiles’ cheek, thumb brushing over his lips before he tugs him forward into a kiss. “Grey or blue.”_

 

Stiles struggles to breathe, tries and fails to forget every smile and soft touch Derek gave him; the warmth in his gaze the past few weeks when he looked at him, the affection in his voice; it had all been lies.

 

_“Derek, your vows.” Isaac holds out the microphone, but Derek shakes his head mutinously. “We’re all waiting.”_

_“I’ll say them to Stiles.”_

_Stiles grins, taking Derek’s clammy hands in his with a comforting squeeze.  “He’s shy.”_

_The guests laugh._

_Derek glares, eyebrows angry as always, but he moves close, lips nearly touching Stiles ears as he begins to speak. “I’ve never been the best at this, telling you how I feel…but here’s the thing, Kit, I think I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you. And I mean the first time I really took the time to see you. You were standing in our spot and …you looked at me—and don’t laugh—but the world came into focus. There’s never been someone like you in my life, a friend who accepts me, seen my rough edges and still loves me.”_

 

_“You’re my mate, my friend, my pain in the ass…” Derek softens the words with a kiss to his cheek.  “The mother of my unborn children, my **kit** …and today I promise my life to you, my love and devotion. I promise you that wherever fate may take us, it will be together.”_

 

Stiles’ entire being cries out for his mate, searching for the alpha through a bond that no longer exists. It takes a long time for the crying to dissipate and when it does Stiles feels empty enough to fall into a restless sleep, empty enough to Derek him go.

 

____________________

 

Derek comes awakes abruptly, legs tangled in the afghan on the couch. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have because the first weak rays of dawn’s light are coming in through windows.

 

_I promise you that wherever fate may take us, it will be together._

Derek’s words are loud in the silent room, clear as anything. He goes still.

 

The stones are warm in his front jean pocket, painful against his thigh. Derek doesn’t move, eyes searching the receding shadows, waiting for something, for the Other to appear but nothing comes.

 

The house is empty.

 

________________________

 

Stiles turns the water on as hot as he can stand it. He presses his forehead against the wet tile. Since the day he took Derek home from the hospital, he’d been living on borrowed time. But it’s a new day and he refuses to let any more tears fall. He turns off the spray and dries off, avoiding his reflection as he rubs a towel through his wet hair and brushes his teeth. The muted breakfast noises coming from downstairs are intimidating.  He pulls on sweat pants and a t shirt before getting right back into bed. All Stiles wants is to hide.

 

“Stiles?”

 

Stiles doesn’t move from under the blankets.

 

“Son, I know you want to be alone but,” John’s voice is cut off by Leo’s angry squalls. He must be hungry.  “Leo’s not taking the formula or anything else. Could you let me in, please?”

 

With no other choice, Stiles gets out of bed and shuffles over to the door.

 

“Son...”

 

“I’m fine, Dad, I just didn’t sleep much.”

  
“But son….”

 

Ignoring his concern, Stiles picks up his son. Melissa is standing a little way off down the hallway, she’s wringing her hands. A fresh wave of mortifying pain washes over him.

 

“We need to start talking about long term.”

 

Stiles shuts the door, shushing a sniffling Leo quietly, and locks it behind them.

 

**_____________________**

 

When Derek hears the keys in the front door, he jumps to his feet thinking that by some miracle its Stiles. It’s not.

 

Boyd gives him a hard stare. “You look like shit.”

 

“So do you.”

 

“Didn’t get much sleep on the couch. My wife isn’t speaking to me, and Stiles? Stiles thinks I _helped_ you cheat on him.”

 

Derek forces himself not to lash out. “I was wrong to put you in that position.”

 

“It was my idiotic choice not to tell Stiles.” Boyd leans back against the wall as he considers Derek’s stained clothes. “How’re you holding up?”

 

“Doesn’t matter. How’s he doing?”

 

“Erica went by John’s.” Boyd hesitates. “Not good.”

 

Derek’s stomach clenches, throat working as he tries to process how badly he’s fucked up.

 

“I’m not going to say I told you so but…”

 

Derek snarls.

 

“What are you going to do?”

 

“Stiles won’t see me, he won’t speak to me.”

 

“Can you blame him?”

 

“How am I supposed to fix it if he won’t give me a chance?”

 

“So, you’re going to do what? Nothing?”

 

“He wants space, and I have to give it to him. What choice do I have?”

 

“You can man the fuck up, alpha.” Boyd says starkly. “Your mate has left you. It’s been two days.”

 

“I know that.”

 

“Then fight for them.”  
  
“The Sheriff won’t let me within a foot of Stiles—”

 

“That never stopped you before.”

 

**_____________________**

 

It takes Derek longer than he’s willing to admit to get the nerve to knock.  He stands on the porch, listening to the low drone of the television coming through the door  while icy wind cuts through his jacket. He doesn’t know what he’ll say. An older woman, a neighbor, passes by with her Maltese for the second time, eyes suspicious as they land on Derek outside the house. Derek rings the doorbell. He’s surprised when John answers. The Sheriff always works Wednesdays. 

 

John squints at him, leaning against the door frame and filling the space, making it clear that Derek isn’t going to be coming inside.He’s dressed in the tan and brown of BHPD. If Derek had waited a few minutes longer he could’ve avoided him all together.

 

“Sheriff.” Derek greets tightly. “Evening.”

 

John spits dangerously close to his boots. “Can I help you with something, boy?”

 

“I need to speak to my husband.”

 

“ _My son_ doesn’t want to see you.”

 

Derek’s got no room to make waves and he knows it, but the bastard has always pushed every fucking button.  John has done everything in his power to make sure that their relationship fails and no doubt he’s using this opportunity to fill Stiles’ head up with all kind of lies.

 

“I’d like to hear that from him.”

 

“After what you put him through? I should clock you one where you stand.” For a moment John looks like might make good on his threat, but then he snorts, dismissing Derek. “Get on your way.”

 

Swallowing down a reply, Derek remains level. “John, if you could--”

 

“Don’t think I can.”

 

John attempts to shut the door but Derek stops it with his foot just in time, jamming it open.

 

“I need to talk to Stiles, and I’m not going anywhere until I do.”

 

“He doesn’t want to see you.”

 

“Then he can tell me that himself.”

 

“I’ve been cordial up till now because Stiles asked it of me, but I’m all out of goodwill.” John’s hand falls to his holster. “If you don’t slither on back the way you came in the next thirty seconds, I’ll haul you in on trespassing and assault of an officer--”

 

“Dad, enough.” Stiles’ stops him, steps out and pulls the door open. “It’s fine.”

 

It’s been less than two days, but Derek feels some of the tightly coiled tension unwind inside of him. The relief at seeing Stiles is eclipsed instantly by the guilt. He looks like hell, eyes bruised and bloodshot.

 

“Stiles, you shouldn’t.”

 

Stiles looks towards Derek but not at him, focuses on a spot just over his shoulder. “Derek and I have some things we need to discuss anyway.”

 

“Not before speaking with the attorney.”

 

The mention of a lawyer sends alarms through Derek.

 

“Dad.” This time Stiles’ tone leaves no room for argument. “Go on, I’ll be inside in a minute.”

 

Reluctantly, John goes back inside the house. The porch light flickers on, John’s fuck you to him no doubt. Stiles steps outside in his house slippers, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his oversized blue sweatshirt. He shuts the door behind him.

 

Derek searches for something to say. His breath catches in his throat when their eyes meet.

 

“Can we talk?”

 

Stiles slumps back against the door. “I came up with a schedule, you can have Leo during the days when school starts up. I’m pumping more so I’ll freeze bottles, but it shouldn’t be an issue now that he’s on solids—”

 

“Schedule?”

 

“In the meantime, you can come and see him here, at least until I figure out a permanent living situation.”

 

“Living situation?” Derek repeats dumbly.  “No.” Stiles is partitioning their life like it’s nothing; like it means nothing. “I don’t want to do that. I want--”

 

“I don’t give a fuck what you want.”

 

“Stiles--”

 

“What’s between us, _the only thing between us_ , is Leo. I’m not going to keep you away from him but I’m not going to let you take him from me.”

 

“I would never---”

 

“I’m not interested in your promises.”

 

“ _Nothing_ happened between me and Paige.”

 

A muscle ticks in Stiles’ jaw. “We can start tomorrow, you take Leo for two hours after dinner, around six?”

 

“I’m sorry I lied, and I regret it, but nothing _happened_.”

 

“Even if I was stupid enough to believe you, even if…what’s the point?”

 

“Don’t give up on me, _on_ _us_.” Derek decides to tell the truth, as much as he can at least. “I’ve been to a Doctor, a specialist Deaton recommended, and she said--”

 

“You were right, you know, what you said before.” The emotionless expression on his face is foreign. “I don’t want you, I _never_ did. I want my husband.” Stiles steps back into the house, face cloaked in shadows. “And that Derek doesn’t exist anymore.”

 

_______________

 

After Stiles gave birth, he’d been bedridden for nearly a week. Labor had been beautiful and transforming but traumatic. Being a fox, recovery took twice as long. Derek was a huge help, he cooked, cleaned and took over every aspect of the household. He also sacrificed his morning runs for morning walks. Stiles would strap Leo to his chest or get him in a stroller and they’d walk through Thurman Park in the early dawn. Those moments were so peaceful.

 

So, before his father wakes, before he can hear Melissa fiddling around in the kitchen, Stiles looks down at Leo as he nurses and thinks why not. He thought he’d get something back after lashing out, but the pain on Derek’s face only left him confused. He bundles Leo in his snowsuit and covers him with a thick blanket. Ten minutes later and Stiles is starting on Thurman trail, trying to recapture some of that peace when a jogger comes down the path, bright blue legging standing out against the white of the snow.

 

Paige.

 

Anxiety slams through him like a MAC truck, sweat breaking out across his forehead even in the freezing temperatures. There’s nowhere to go, he can’t turn back without being noticed and he’s directly in her path. He has shit luck. Paige slows to a walk, removing her headphones. She’s always been very beautiful, and the years have been kind to her. She looks how Stiles remembers, poised and elegant even in sneakers. It’s no wonder Derek couldn’t stay away.

 

“Stiles, good morning.”

 

She doesn’t care when Stiles doesn’t return her greeting. Her gaze flits down to the stroller, where Leo’s kicking his legs out in front of him. He’s blowing spit bubbles lazily, still milk drunk.

 

“And this must be our little Leo.” She leans down, cooing at him. “You look just like your Daddy.” Her smile stretches wide, not a hint of shame. “Not a hint of fox in him, is there?”

 

Stiles moves the stroller behind him. “Don’t speak about my son.”

 

“Well,” She replies brightly. “I will be his mother soon.”

 

“Whatever happens with you and Derek, is between you two. You’re not getting anywhere near my child.”

 

“Respectfully, Stiles, that’s not up to you, is it? That’s for the court to decide.” Her smile grows, cheeks flushing as she tears down what’s left of his world. “With Derek being an alpha werewolf and you being a fox, well… I don’t think we’ll have much to worry about.”

 

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Stiles has never wanted to hit someone so much in his entire life. “Derek’s without a pack, and you’re a human who is incapable of accepting the bite.”

 

The amusement melts from her face. “Derek doesn’t care about that.”

 

“Funny,” Stiles feigns ignorance. “It was quite the issue before.”

 

“Well, he learned his lesson, didn’t he? Was so depressed he fucked a fox after me… but that’s all over. I’ve let him know that he doesn’t have to settle, and Derek’s let me know, in many, _many_ pleasurable ways, _several_ times, that he feels the same.” She tilts her head, gaze assessing. “You’re in the past now.”

 

It’s everything Stiles been afraid of. Because he’s seconds away from punching her, because he can’t stop shaking, Stiles doesn’t respond, takes a line from every after -school special and walks away. Her laughter follows.

 

_______________

His father is waiting on the porch when Stiles gets back to the house, helping Stiles up the front steps with the stroller. “Where did you get off to so early?”

 

“Felt like a walk.” Stiles kicks the door shut behind them.

 

Melissa unstraps Leo, getting him out of his snow suit just as he begins to fuss.

 

“Mel, could you take Leo upstairs and change him, please?”

 

Once alone with John, Stiles sits down at the kitchen table; he’s trembling.

 

“What is it?”

 

Paige, for all her vitriol, is right. He needs to be prepared. “I’m ready to see the lawyer.”

_____________

 

“Ta-dah.” Paige sets her keys on a scarred wood table with a flourish. In all the time they’ve been meeting, Derek’s never been to her apartment. She removes her heavy jacket hanging it in the hall closet. “This is me.”

 

“It’s… nice.”

 

The apartment has an open concept, high ceilings and sun drenched with exposed brick on the east wall. The floor to ceiling windows provide a sprawling view of Helena, Beacon Hills off in the distance.  It looks new, furnishings stiff, choreographed and carrying the sterile odor of a show room. Derek is uneasy. He shouldn’t have come but he needed to say this face to face. Paige had been adamant about meeting at her place.

 

Nerves get the best of him and Derek sits down on the overstuffed couch. Paige goes to the kitchen, flipping a light switch as she goes. Derek can hear her rifling through drawers before the refrigerator door.

 

“You want anything to drink?”

 

“No, uh, but thanks.”

 

In high school, Paige’s bedroom had been filled with butterflies and succulents, a fact that deeply embarrassed her. She collected glass figurines of the winged creatures and drew them by hand, traced their wings in ribbon and wax, bits of material to bring them to life among the heavy greenery. When Derek first saw the gauze creations, he’d smiled, charmed by the pink blush over the bridge of her nose and cheeks, and in the morning, the sun poured through her window and lit the wings to life. As she slept, Derek stared up at the ceiling and felt like fairies were flitting around them through the leaves. This place doesn’t have a hint of that magic; bare and impersonal even to his unknowing eyes. Derek wonders why.

 

Paige returns with two beers, pops the cap from one and slides it in front of Derek.

 

They sit in silence for a few moments.

 

Derek picks at the damp label of the bottle. “Stiles left me.”

 

Paige doesn’t react. “When?”

 

“Few days ago.” The words are hard to say, even harder to admit because it makes it real. “He found out about you.”

 

“Found out about me?” She lifts a dark brow. “Sounds sordid.”

 

“I explained to him that nothing happened. But, he doesn’t want to listen to me right now.” Derek clears his throat uncomfortably. “I can’t see you anymore.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

“My family has to be my priority. I can’t do that with you in the picture. And…about the other night. Paige, I don’t want that from you.”

 

The disinterest melts to something else. “But you kissed me.”

 

“No, _you_ kissed _me_.”

 

“You didn’t move away.”

 

“I wanted to.”

 

“You didn’t!” The slam of the beer bottle as she puts down the beer is loud in the silent room. “This is our chance, Derek, you don’t have to feel obligated or guilty anymore.”

 

“I love my son.”

 

“And that’s OK, that’s natural but Stiles—”

 

“I think I may…” Derek falters, catches himself. He knows that Stiles doesn’t feel the same, but it doesn’t make it any less true on his part. _I don’t want you, I never did. I want my husband_. Those words have replayed in his mind constantly.  “I love him.”

 

The words fall heavily between them. Paige inhales sharply, eyes deep pools that Derek feels lost in. Her hands are atop the table, fingers spread out over the wood. The color drains from her face and a draft sweeps across the back of his neck.

 

“Once in a lifetime, Derek. Isn’t that what you said?”

 

The cold seeps into his skin and Derek shivers. The stones in his pocket are warm now, heat steadily intensifying. He has a moment to wonder why before she recaptures his attention.

 

“You told me it was like being struck by lightning, couldn’t happen twice in a lifetime. _You promised me. You promised.”_

“I don’t understand what—”

 

“You only get it _once_.”

 

“I’m going to go.” Derek gets up to leave. Paige steps into his path. She’s so much smaller than him, but Derek feels as if he’s the one at a disadvantage. “I came here to say goodbye, Paige, and I’ve said it.”

 

“You won’t be able to stay away.” There isn’t a hint of that past flush in her cheek, the fragments of light gone. The woman in front of him seems like a stranger, feels like someone else. “You don’t love him.”

 

_______________

 

In high school, Derek was an asshole. He was self-centered and cocky, the kind of alpha that was a stereotypical knot head.  He loved the way people deferred to him, hell, even took advantage of it, but deep down, he resented the way no one really wanted to get to know him once they knew what he was. As if his status defined every ounce of his being.

 

But Paige? She was the opposite. She was _human_. She wasn’t the loudest, or funniest person in the room, but she possessed a calm drew people in. She made you feel special just for having her attention. It had been something Derek treasured.

 

Today had been different.

 

Derek drives down his street, the stones are hot enough now that he’s set them on the dashboard, blistered his hands in the process.  He parks the car and nearly jumps through the windshield when the passenger door opens, and Other Stiles climbs out.

“Just in time.” Other Stiles says, image wavering with each word he speaks.  “Can you imagine driving if he was crying? I did that to my parents, you know. Dad says he had to pull over for like, an hour while my mother tried to calm me down.”

 

Remembering Dr. Gianfranco’s, Derek doesn’t panic. He holds the stones and gives in. The breath in his body is sucked out as he’s plunged into darkness, the world fracturing and coming back into focus through another’s eyes. He’s outside of the car now, but the reflection staring back at him from the windows is his own. The street is different, there are cars where the space was vacant seconds ago and the sunny afternoon is now a rainy, morning.

 

Derek jolts when his body moves of his own accord, opening the back-passenger door. It’s the weirdest fucking feeling but there’s no pain. He can hear the Other Derek’s thoughts, feel his emotions. He can’t stop it, so he tries to catalogue every detail.

_“Never been so fucking anxious in my life.” Derek unhooks the car seat and starts for the front door, his free hand at Stiles’ back. “I’m relieved that’s over.”_

_“Because it was you who gave birth to a gigantic Hale baby?” Stiles laughs. “Congrats on being the world’s slowest driver, by the way.”_

_Derek unlocks the front door. “There were **speed** **bumps**.”_

_“The guy I married used to fly right over them, nearly caused me to choke while giving him road head.”_

_“My foot slipped on the gas with good cause.”_

_“I thought that road rage dude in the dodge was going to run us off the road before you let him pass.”_

_Derek growls setting the carrier down on the kitchen counter. “He’s lucky I didn’t rip him apart for tailgating my family.”_

_“Your family.” Stiles repeats softly, dopey smile touching his lips. “I like the sound of that. Although, our third member sounds pissed to be here.”_

_Stiles lifts Leo up, settling the infant against his chest. Derek scents them both possessively, nuzzling the top of Leo’s downy head as his hand run down’s Stiles’ back. They’re both drenched in his scent already, but Derek can’t seem to help himself. Leo is tiny against Stiles’ chest, little limbs curled up to his torso._

_Murmuring comforting words to the baby, Stiles rocks him. The love is so apparent. Derek never thought he could love Stiles more than he already does but seeing Stiles go through labor, seeing how much Stiles loves their son, is already is doing crazy things to his heart._

_Eventually, Leo stops crying, eyes big and open. Stiles says he has Derek’s eyes, even though they’re still moody newborn blue, and a headful of dark hair that had burned like nobody’s business on the way out._

_And Derek thinks with pride, yeah, I made that._

_That kid who is breathing and drooling and fucking beautiful is his, theirs._

_Derek presses a kiss to Stiles’ collar. “You hungry?”_

_“Sleep.” Stiles says immediately. He snuggles against Derek’s back, hand joining his over Leo. “We’re going to sleep.”_

 

Derek blinks and he’s in his own body again, standing in front of the kitchen cabinets. Alone.

 

His cellphone is ringing. It’s Dr. Gianfranco.

 

“I need you to come to my office.”

 

Before Derek can tell her about the memory—he fucking _lived through_ something, he knows it- she beats him to the punch.

 

“I’ve reviewed your accident report. The accident wasn’t an accident at all.”

 

__________________________

 

 

One of the few memories Stiles has of his mother is at _Luigi’s_. He vaguely remembers eating watermelon Italian ice while seated on her lap, pointing at the birds circling above. She lifted him to the ground and wiped his cheeks with a floral handkerchief. He ran off and she followed close behind him, she’d always been that way, a helicopter mom. Always hovering. Always worried he’d get hurt or he’d trip, and she wouldn’t be there to catch him. Until she wasn't there at all.

 

Stiles hates _Luigi’s_ ; he doesn’t know why Scott wanted to come here but suspects it’s part of the unofficial cheer up pathetic, loser Stiles campaign.

 

“It’s too cold for Italian ice!”

 

“Then why are they open, huh?” Scott counters brilliantly, enthusiastically digging into lemon shaved ice. “Explain that.”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You’ve got me there.”

 

“Watermelon for you.” Erica pops up over his shoulder. “And for Prince Grumpy: rice pudding!”

 

“They serve that here?”

 

Erica shrugs, sitting down next to him. “I ran down to Village Café.” She lifts Isla up onto the bench next to her.  She adjusts her daughter’s knit headband over her ears. “But who would give a baby cold ice in this weather?”

 

“You.” Stiles says drily, pointing to the Isla. “You would.”

 

“I’m not a baby!” Isla declares loudly, blue stains around her mouth. “Leo is the baby.”

 

Leo has woken from his stroller induced nap and is staring enviously at the cups. He doesn’t know what is in them, but he’s licking his lips because he assumes everything is food. It’s sunny even if its chilly, so Stiles lifts Leo out of his carrier, and sits him on his lap. He tries the rice pudding, it’s delicious of course because everything from Village Café always is.

 

Stiles eats another spoonful before Leo’s patience runs out and he starts to cry.

 

“Stop proving Isla right, cry baby.” Stiles shushes him affectionately and Leo hiccoughs in response, managing to squeeze out a few crocodile tears. Those Hale eyes. Stiles heart clenches. He spoons some pudding into Leo’s open mouth and the crying stops immediately. “You like it, huh?”

 

Leo smacks his lips, fingers grabbing for the spoon. It’s nice, the sounds and smells soothe him and for a moment Stiles forgets, as impossible as that sounds. He pulls out his cellphone, snaps a few pictures of Leo smearing his face with food and nearly sends it to Derek before his mind catches up with his actions.

 

“It’s good to be out, right?” Erica comments. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long.”

 

“It’s been a week.”

 

“I know, but considering the circumstances.”

 

She’s not subtle.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“I ripped Boyd a new one. He swore he didn’t know until a few days ago, but he doesn’t think Derek and Paige were doing anything.”

 

“I really don’t care what they did. He lied to me. He lied and that means something, you don’t hide if you’re not doing anything wrong.”

 

“Derek went through a massive trauma, I’m not making excuses for him, but he may be processing the situation—”

 

“We’re not discussing this.” Stiles chest feels tight. He knows exactly what Derek had been doing to ‘process.’ His run in with Paige had confirmed that.

 

“You should talk to him. I know you want to protect yourself, and no one can fault you for that. However, what if it’s a misunderstanding? What if—"

 

“Hey.” Scott points behind them. “Isn’t that Derek?”

 

Sure enough, Derek’s coming out of a three- story office plaza on the corner of Mayan Ave. The sign on the plaza catches Stiles attention and holds it.

 

_Joshua Marst, Esq. Mate and Bond Law._

Stiles’ stomach drops, and he holds Leo tight. When he turns back around, Erica is looking from Derek to him bewildered.

 

“Still think it’s a misunderstanding?”

 

__________________________

 

Derek sits in silence stunned.

 

“Who would do this to me?”

 

“I was hoping you’d have that answered by now.” Dr. Bane responds smoothly. He’s a quiet man, serious with deeply intelligent eyes. “Did you make any progress with the stones?”

 

“I’m, uh.” Derek swallows dryly. “I’m remembering things, but I haven’t gone back to that night.”

 

“We need to dispel the curse as quickly as possible; I need a name for the ritual to work.”

 

“And if I can’t get a name?”

 

“You’ll die, Derek.”

 

__________________________

 

“This is a bad idea.”

 

It’s the fifth time Lydia’s said that. She hadn’t let up on the drive downtown, and has been shooting him worried glances since he showed up for their late dinner date wearing tight black jeans and a deep red v neck shirt and told her they weren’t having dinner at all.

 

“You’re free to go.”  Stiles cuts the engine. He feels good that he’s doing this in Derek’s car. “Jordan and some guys from work are meeting me.”

 

“Jordan?” Lydia groans, covering her face. “Stiles, why?”

 

“For fun?”

 

“You think Jordan’s going to think it’s fun to be led on? I don’t want you to do anything stupid, or put yourself in a position where you can be hurt or taken advantage of.”

 

“I’m not helpless just because I’m not a fucking werewolf.”

 

“Don’t make it about species. You know that alcohol--”

 

“Screw the bullshit sermon, Lyds.” There’s already a line forming. Stiles looks down the block, if he concentrates he can see the dim blue light of _Triskele’s_ bar sign. “It’s one night.”

 

“But you shouldn’t--”

 

“Don’t.” Stiles warns again, pointedly. “If you’re not going to be supportive, go home.”

 

Lydia shakes her head but doesn’t say anything. They stare at each other, inflexible until loud laughter catches their attention.

 

“Stiles!” Jordan greets enthusiastically.  He’s wearing a dark blue button down, jeans and boots. “Hey man, we got a table.” He smiles brightly, speaking to Lydia. “We’ve met before, Lydia, right? The doctor?”

 

The smile Lydia gives him is more of a grimace. She doesn’t acknowledge him and instead turns to Stiles with a sigh. “You win, Stiles, let’s drink.”

 

It’s been years since Stiles has walked through the black painted doors of _The Jungle_. He’s assailed with memories of drinking and laughing, having the world spin around him under the heavy beat of music pumping through the speakers.

 

It’s not crowded, still early. Jordan gets the first round, jack and coke for Stiles and a club soda for Lydia. Stiles wonders if everyone knows about his shit life when Adam gets the second round, declaring Stiles’ isn’t buying for the entire night. He doesn’t ask though, just throws them back, getting reacquainted with the comforting burn of liquor and the warm cloak it bestows him. By his fourth drink, Stiles’ grip on the glass is unsteady, liquid spilling down to stain his shirt.

 

Lydia looks like she’s about to cry.

 

It’s shaping up to be a shitfest.

 

“Lana Del Rey is always playing.” Stiles grouses. “Like she’s… like an icon.”

 

“Blue Jeans is a classic.” Jordan replies and whoa, when did he get so close?

 

“Huh?”

 

“Want to dance?”

 

Stiles squints at Jordan’s face, open and eager, and feels irritated. “Not really.” He swallows the rest of his vodka soda on a gag and walks out unto the now crowded dance floor.

 

 _Icona Pop_ is blasting through the speakers, riffs making his vision swim and his feet feel weightless. He gives an experimental spin, giggling when the high swells. Out here he can forget everything, forget the lawyer’s contrite expression as she told him he’d likely lose a custody petition.

 

_I crashed my car into a bridge, I watched, I let it burn_

 

“Stiles.” Lydia says, frustration and concern in her tone. “Come on, you should…”

 

Whatever she says is lost as Stiles steps off the raised platform and makes his way to the blond beta wolf who’d been eye-fucking him for the past fifteen minutes. Blonde guy is in the middle of four other wolves, wide legged stance arrogant. They think they’re the crème of the crop. In a club like this? They’re not wrong.

 

When the beta sees Stiles approaching, he moves away from his friends, nostrils flaring imperceptibly to catch his scent.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey.” A cocky smile.  “James.”

 

“Sam.” Stiles lies smoothly, subtly licking his lips. “Dance?”

 

The smile is now unsure. “You smell taken.”

 

“That’s nothing.”

 

Derek’s scent should have faded by now.

 

James frowns grows, a flicker of uncertainty in his blue eyes. “He’s an alpha.”

 

“What’s the matter?” Stiles taunts softly, pressing close enough to whisper in his ear over the music. “Scared?”

 

“If he can’t control a little fox like you?” James hands slide down his back. He’s apparently decided not to be a pussy. “Not even a little bit.”

 

The music is a heavy, throbbing beat, and Stiles feels reckless. The longer they dance the more obvious it is that the guy is angling for a hook up. Stiles doesn’t want it. James isn’t right, not as muscled as Derek, too tall, scent too much like citrus but James wants him. Stiles shuts his eyes and kisses him anyway.  James grins against his mouth, quickly taking charge and backing Stiles up against a wall, Stiles doesn’t even remember getting led to the back. It’s stifling but Stiles doesn’t fight, not like he could, and lets hands he doesn’t want roam over his back and ass, haul him off his feet and suffocate him.

 

The arrogant wolf presses him up against the wall, fingers demanding and mouth hard against his. Stiles feels nothing.

 

“You want to take this somewhere private?”

 

Stiles opens his eyes, he can taste blood and can tell it excites James. “Where?”

 

“I live a few blocks over…” The beta inclines his head. “Or we can head out back? I’m not picky.”

 

The beta’s pack is watching. Stiles thinks of the cut of gravel against his knees, the scrape of it under his palms. He can see it in the other man’s eyes, even as he smells it. James likes the idea of hurting him.

 

“Well?”

 

Sobriety cuts through his haze like an unwelcome friend. Stiles closes his eyes on a groan, imagines he’s anywhere else but here when James plasters himself against him and knees his legs apart.

 

Suddenly, the suffocating weight disappears.

 

“Fuck off.”

 

Stiles swallows hard.

 

Derek’s standing tall, broad and imposing. He’s got James wrist in a vice-like grip, muscles flexing when he twists savagely, forcing a grunt of pain from the other wolf. For his part, James is scared shitless. Derek’s eyes aren’t bleeding alpha red but every striking line in his body, ever pheromone reads deadly alpha.

 

The other wolves in the club watch the exchange, motionless.

 

“Sorry, man.” James sputters. “I thought—”

  
“Alpha.” Derek snarls the correction. “‘Sorry, Alpha.”

 

The music doesn’t stop playing but every supernatural creature in the vicinity is listening.

For a moment James looks like he’s going to fight but then submits, jaw clenched and reeking of humiliation.

 

“I apologize, Alpha… I didn’t know the fox was taken, not with the way he was—"

 

Derek kicks him forward, glaring at the other wolves in challenge. “Walk away while you still have legs to carry you.”

 

With the excitement over, and no bloodshed to behold, the crowd disperses. Alcohol sloshes in Stiles belly nastily, he looks past Derek to see Lydia taking in the scene with the rest of the worried drunks, guilt on her face. Her cellphone is still in her hand. Traitor.

 

Derek doesn’t move until James and his friends are out the door, then he turns to Stiles. His face is a stone mask, angry. Stiles flinches when Derek touches his face, thumb brushing over his cut lip.

 

“You okay?”

 

Stiles shakes Derek’s hands off. “Don’t touch me.”

 

“You let him put his hands all over you.”

 

“So? I get around.”

 

Derek’s presses his lips together in a thin line. “I’m taking you home.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

 

“You’re in no condition to drive—”

 

“I’d rather walk.”

 

Before Stiles can protest, Derek hauls him up and over his shoulder. Stiles shrieks indignantly, manages to land some blows but nothing slows Derek down as he carries him out of the club.  It’s humiliating. Once outside in the cool air, Derek sets him on his feet and forcefully drags Stiles along to a parking garage. The range rover is parked there.

 

Derek opens the passenger door. “Get in.”

 

“Oh, I get it. You’re going to use this as evidence, huh?”

 

“Evidence?”

 

“You think you’re going to take my _baby_?” Stiles slurs, anger boiling as every word of Paige’s runs through his head. “You think I’ll let you? I would never…” He hiccoughs, tears threatening. “ _Why_ would you do that to me?”

 

“I’m not doing anything!”

 

“Liar!” Stiles yells right back. “I saw you go into the lawyer’s office.”

 

Derek’s brow furrows. “I didn’t.”

 

“Bullshit,” Stiles sways on his feet, black spots clouding his vision. “Thursday, you were there…I saw you.”

 

The world fades to black.

________________________

 

When Stiles comes to, rays of sunlight are jackhammering into his skull. He recognizes the walls of the guestroom, now sans one framed generic sailboat photo. Fuck. He closes his eyes, dragging a pillow over his face. How much did he drink? Stiles moves the pillow away from his face and sees Derek at the foot if the bed, watching him.

 

“How’s the head?”

 

Stiles groans in response, reaching for the painkillers set out on the nightstand. He swallows them dry, ignoring the glass of water Derek holds out to him, as he tries to remember just how big of an ass he made of himself.

 

“There’s eggs and bacon in the kitchen, if you’re up to it.”

 

Stiles wants to tell him to go to hell but his stomach isn’t on board. If only to not embarrass himself further by throwing up, Stiles gets to his feet blearily.  In the kitchen, there’s a small mountain of scrambled eggs and bacon on the warming plate waiting. Derek’s been busy.

 

Stiles shovels forkful after forkful into his mouth, ignoring Derek entirely.

 

“Would you like toast?”

 

Stiles burps. “I want a ride to my Dad’s.”

 

“I’m not going to let you go running to him; not anymore.”

 

“Running?” His blood boils.” _Let_ _me_?”

 

“We should talk.” Derek insists. He has a cup of coffee in his hands, and Stiles can see the white of his knuckles against the ceramic siding. “We _need_ to talk.”

 

“Don’t have anything to say.”

 

“Then you can listen.” Before Stiles can stop him, Derek grabs his cellphone and pockets it. “Last night you couldn’t stand on your own, you let some asshole _grope_ you and put bruises on you…you scared the hell out of your friends.”

 

“All in a day’s work.”

 

“It’s not funny. Stiles, you have a history with alcohol, you were dependent. With your history, it’s reckless and stupid to get drunk. You could have been hurt.”

 

It’s the truth, but Stiles refuses to be remorseful. “I can take care of myself.”

 

“Who knows what would have happened if Lydia hadn’t called me?”

 

“Again: I can take care of myself.”

 

“Like you did the night you were assaulted.”

 

The sickening feeling builds. “Fuck you.”

 

“I didn’t mean it that way, ok? I was worried. If anything happened to you, I—”

 

“You’re _lecturing_ me?” Stiles shouts. “Fuck this, I’ll walk.”

 

“Stiles.” Derek catches him by the arm pleadingly. “You can’t walk fifteen miles.”

 

“I’ll be fine.”

 

“You’re not fine, otherwise Lydia wouldn’t be calling me at two am.”

 

“Sorry for the inconvenience.”

 

“It wasn’t an inconvenience.” Derek grits his teeth. “It’s not about that.”

 

“What I don’t understand is why you care. You can be with Paige. Go, go start your wonderful, sunshine life. I. Don’t. Care.”

 

“I don’t want her! I want you… even if you’re using me as a stand-in …I… _I still want us_.”

 

Stiles is furious with himself at the way his pulse quickens. Derek seems so earnest and sincere, but it’s not real. He saw Derek outside of the lawyer’s office, just like Paige said.

 

Stiles walks around Derek and picks up the landline.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I’m calling my Dad.”

 

Derek is rigid. “I want you to come back home.”

 

“No.”

 

“I know you’re pissed at me, Stiles, and I wish I could give you the space you need but I can’t. You need to come home.”

 

“Not happening.”

 

“You’re not safe.”

 

“I don’t need to be protected from anything except _you and your lies_.”

 

“Will you fucking listen?! When I told you I wanted to try, I was being honest.”

 

Stiles will hate himself for asking, for being vulnerable but he needs to know. “Then why did you go to her?” He cringes at how broken he sounds, how obvious his hurt is.

 

“I…” Derek falters, eyes dropping to the floor. “I don’t know…it was an impulse I couldn’t control.”

 

“You expect me to believe that? Derek, you lied to me. _Repeatedly_. You don’t lie unless it means something.”

 

“I wish I could make you understand.”

 

Stiles turns away, fingers gripping the cool metal of the sink. “I don’t want to hear it.”

 

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” Derek comes up behind him, heat radiating from his body. He slides his fingers under the collar of Stiles’ shirt, slowly slips them down the delicate curve of his collarbone in a soothing motion. “I care about you, Stiles. Please. Our family means everything to me.”

 

The touch is so much like before. Gentling.

 

“Don’t.” Stiles warns.

 

“Give me the benefit of the doubt, just for a few more days.” Derek pleads softly, fingers now sliding back up Stiles’ neck to cradle his cheek. “Give me a chance.”

 

Stiles lets his eyes close, inhales sharply at the scent of his alpha.

 

“Please…”

 

Stiles’ breath hitches, and he’s alarmed by how much he wants to give in. “I said, no.”  

 

The touch is gone. “I don’t want to go through the courts, but I will.”

 

And there it is. Stiles doesn’t even want to  _look_  at Derek, he’s so livid. He tries to tell himself that fury is the only emotion he’s feeling, but the stinging behind his eyes tells him otherwise.

“Is that what you were doing at the Law Offices?” Stiles is amazed at how calm he sounds when he’s breaking into pieces. “I was at _Luigi’_ s, we saw you leaving the lawyers office.  Scott looked him up. He specializes in custody disputes.”

“It’s not what you think.”

 

“I don’t care if you’re an Alpha, I don’t care if you’re a Werewolf.” Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears threatening to slip from his eyes. “You’re not taking him from me.”

 

Derek scrubs his hand over his face. “Come back home, Stiles, we can figure this out without lawyers.”

 

“You’re blackmailing me?”

 

“If that’s the way you want to see it. It’s the only way to keep you safe.”

 

“From what?”

 

“I need you to trust me, just for a little while longer.”

 

Trust him? Stiles can’t help it, and he hates himself for it but he can’t hold it in.

 

“Don’t cry.”

 

Stiles wipes at the stupid tears. Hiding because he knows Derek’s right. The lawyer they met with yesterday had confirmed Stiles’ fears.  He doesn’t stand a chance against an alpha parent. All custody disputes for wolves, including children, are under Lycan jurisdiction, and every court would rule against a non-wolf.

 

“For how long?”

 

“One week, and then…” Derek promises. “And then if you still feel the same way, I won’t fight you if you want to go.”

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

_“Babe.”_

_Derek grunts rolling over unto his side._

_“ **Babe**.” A bony finger pokes his side insistently. “Derek, wake up.”_

_“Wha?”_

_“Leo.”_

_Belatedly, Derek hears his son crying. Shit. He pushes the covers off and walks over to the bassinet in the dark.  Leo is whimpering, cheeks wet with tears._

_“Sorry, Tiger.” Derek presses a kiss to his temple before handing him to Stiles. “Sorry.”_

_The tea light by the window gives Derek enough light to watch Stiles unbutton the top of his cotton pajama top and bring the baby to nurse. Leo stops abruptly mid cry as he latches on._

_Derek watches them for a moment, transfixed by the sight._

_Stiles smiles sleepily when he catches him. “I know, fascinating, my nipples cure all his ills.”_

_“I’m sorry I didn’t hear him.”_

_“It’s okay.” Stiles looks down at the baby, content. “I would’ve gotten up myself but my body wasn’t cooperating. You, sir, are a heavy sleeper when sleep deprived.”_

_“Punch me in the face next time.”_

_Stiles laughs and leans back against the propped-up pillows. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”_

_“I mean it.” Not even a day and Derek’s fucked up. “I don’t want him to lay there crying and hungry because I can’t wake up.”_

_“Derek, stop.” Derek knows he hears the insecurity of his voice. “Look at him, he’s fine.  A little crying won’t hurt.” With his free hand, Stiles runs a hand through Derek’s hair tenderly. “And you’re a great Dad.”_

_“I’ve been a dad for less than a day.”_

_“Okay. You will be a great dad.”_

_“How do you know?”_

_“Because, I know the way you make me feel, cherished and loved, Leo will feel the same.”_

 

Derek wakes in degrees, the scent and sound melting away into consciousness. He doesn’t move, and the dream doesn’t fade. If he concentrates he can smell talcum powder, the light scent of fabric softener and clean linen. It’s akin to fresh baked bread and vanilla, something that must be uniquely Stiles. It’s _addicting_ , alluring and milky sweet. Derek’s mouth waters, heart beat kicking into high gear as he realizes that it must be Stiles’ scent, not detergent or cologne but Stiles _himself_.

 

Derek’s pulse races. He remembers his scent.

 

Leo’s crying across the hall.

 

The door to the guest room is open, Stiles’ suitcase sitting at the foot of the bed. Derek continues to the nursery, nudges the door open with his foot, careful not to make any noise. Stiles’ face is hidden in the shadows, head bent as he sings. Leo’s slowing down, the way he always does when Stiles rocks him.

 

“There you go.” Stiles shifts Leo to his shoulder, his back in slow circular motions. “Think you can sleep for Papa?” Leo starts to fuss again, tiny fists moving against Stiles bare chest. “Sh, yeah, you can.”

_“Sh, baby, I’m here.”_

_“He alright?”_

_“Yeah.” Stiles gives him a tired smile just as Leo starts to wail anew. “It’s fine.”_

_“You’ve been in here an hour.”_

_“Miss me?”_

_In lieu of an answer, Derek leans down next to the rocking chair and strokes his son’s wet cheek. “He’s schizo.”_

_“Hey! That’s my kid you’re talking about!”_

_“Mine, too.”_

_“Well, Hale boys are notoriously psycho.” Stiles grins, catching Derek’s eyes over his shoulder.  “I knew what I was getting into when I got pregnant with this little guy.”_

_Derek snickers. “Nice.”  He touches Leo’s dark curls. “Why don’t you bring the little schizo back to our room? I’ll make you hot chocolate. How’s that sound?”_

_“Heaven.”_

“Go back to bed, Derek, I don’t need your help.”

Derek’s unable to move from the doorway. The stone flashes white in his hand, and Derek drops it when the flash of heat burns him. He looks down at the faint red mark, stares in disbelief as it vanishes.

 

_As it heals._

 

“What is that?”

 

Derek ignores him, scrambling to pick up the stone. He needs to know. “Hale boys are notoriously psycho?”

 

Stiles blinks. “What?”

 

“Leo you said he’s psycho, you said…I remembered something, we were in this room…” Derek moves forward, gesturing to the space in front of the window. “You were standing right here, and you were singing and you said--”

 

“I don’t know what you’re going on about.” Stiles pushes him forward to shut the door. “Get out.”

 

___________­­­­­______________

 

It’s an exercise in self -control.

 

Jealousy is coursing through Derek, almost choking him as he watches Stiles across the dinner table laughing with Jordan on the phone. It isn’t a feeling he’s used to. Where he’s been acidic and short to Derek, Stiles is now bright eyed and rosy cheeked with Jordan, apologizing graciously for his behavior at the club.

 

Stiles freezes Derek out from every angle. They live together but that’s it. Stiles doesn’t take any meals with him and leaves the room when he enters. Unless it’s necessary, Stiles doesn’t speak to him or even look at him. It’s obvious that he’s simply waiting out his week as if it’s a jail sentence.

 

Derek controls himself because he doesn’t want to push Stiles even further away, but it stings. The rejection. The constant replay in his mind of what Stiles said. That he never wanted Derek. But Derek tries. He focuses on trying to show Stiles how he feels. He changes the oil in the Jeep before it’s ready, he brings in fresh Lilies because he knows Stiles loves the smell.  He’s tried to write down he feels, wrote a letter but found the pages torn up, still in the envelope in the kitchen waste basket.

 

Tonight, before he’s set to meet with Dr. Bane, Derek’s makes chicken over rice for dinner, steaming broccoli with garlic and salt because its Stiles’ favorite.

 

“Hey!” Derek calls when he hears the front door open. The tables just about done, food laid out and Leo is asleep in his playpen. “I made dinner.”

 

“You shouldn’t have.”

 

Derek looks up sharply at the Sheriff’s voice. John glares at him from the door way, suited up for work.

 

“John.” Derek stiffens and Stiles looks back at him defiantly. “What are you doing here?”

 

_Hiding behind your father, like always!_

The thought jumps into Derek’s head and stays there. He said that before.

 

“I was invited.” John drops a takeout bag on the table.  In the middle of the set plates. “We’re going to eat pizza, but you have fun with that chicken.”

 

“Stiles, a word?”

 

“I’m here because I have no choice.” Stiles says stubbornly. “I don’t have to have dinner with you.”

 

Derek sits down at the kitchen table, setting the cutlery he’d been about to lay out on his napkin.  He looks only at Stiles. “What are you afraid of?”

 

“You’ve got the gall to ask him that?” John butts in. “After what you’re putting him though?”

 

“John, this is between me and Stiles.”

 

“I’ve had your number since the days you were sneaking in and out of my house. Your type doesn’t change. Now, Stiles told me that you gave your word not to make a bid for custody if he remained for a week; that’s the only reason he’s here.”

 

“I’ve apologized for not letting Stiles know I was speaking to Paige.” Derek says evenly. He won’t cower. “I lied in the past—”

 

“And you’re still lying.” John interjects. “My patrol saw you in Helena less than a week ago.”

 

The look on Stiles’ face is nothing short of devastated.

 

“You’re still seeing her?” Stiles whispers.

 

“No, Stiles, I’m not!”

 

Stiles shakes his head in disbelief. “Why can’t you just let me go then? If you want to be with her, why are you forcing me to stay?”

 

“I thought I was doing the right thing, protecting you, by not being completely honest. I wasn’t seeing the lawyer that day you saw me. I went to see a mage, and Dr. Gianfranco’s hotel borders Helena, that’s the only reason why, Stiles, I swear.”

 

John scoffs. “If that were the case, then why continue lying?”

 

Stiles doesn’t look at John, eyes on Derek. “A mage? Why?”

 

“She specializes in magical disruption.”

 

“Magic Disruption?”

 

“Things like curses, binding and spells.”

 

“This Doctor—”

 

“Doctor Gianfranco.”

 

“She thinks someone put a spell on you? But you were in a car accident.”

 

“We went over the accident reports and it doesn’t add up. The impact on my frontal lobe doesn’t match the wreckage. She thinks that the accident masked what really happened.”

 

“So why hasn’t she…fixed you?”

 

“The mage can’t undo the curse until he knows the identity of the one who placed it, and I’ve tried Stiles, I’ve tried to figure it out…”

 

Derek can see it in his expression, he’s wavering and his heart swells with hope.

 

“Stiles!” John bursts out. “Please tell me you’re not buying this hogwash!”

 

“It’s the truth.” Derek says. “Even if you don’t trust _me_ , trust your Derek,”

 

The silences stretches between the and Derek can see it in Stiles’ eyes, he’s wavering.

 

John breaks the silence. “The night of the accident, where were you going Derek?”

 

Derek looks at John sharply. “Work.”

 

“You mean working late?” John repeats.

 

Stiles tenses.

 

“What are you getting at?’

 

“I didn’t want to tell you, I wish I didn’t have to, but I won’t let you be manipulated further.” John leads Stiles out into the living room, leaving Derek to follow. “Officer Davis was on patrol the night of Derek’s accident. Stiles, he took a break at the Broad Street Diner. Derek was there, sitting across from a woman with long, dark hair, light eyes…sound familiar?”

 

“I was with Paige that night.” Derek inhales sharply, the Doctor’s words thundering through his mind. The curse had to have been placed immediately preceding. “I…”

 

“You were with Paige.” Stiles voice is filled with anguish, and Derek snaps out of his shock when he realizes the implication. “Before you lost your memory. Even before. You were lying to me.”

 

“No.” Derek begins to protest but he can’t, not really, he doesn’t know. “I don’t…Stiles—”

 

“It’s why I’ve been so hard from the beginning son. I knew -- memory or not--that _wolf_.” He spits the word out distastefully. “was stepping out on you, not even a month after you gave birth."

 

“That’s not true.”

 

“Oh, you got your memory back now? Mighty convenient.” John mocks. “Or was that a farce too?”

 

Derek loses it. There’s no other way to describe what happens next. He’s across the room in a flash, hauling John up by the collar of his shirt and slamming him into a wall. Distantly, he can hear Stiles screaming at him, yelling for him to stop but he can’t. John is scrabbling, his booted feet kicking at air as he struggles to find the ground.

 

“Derek!” Stiles grabs his arms, shoving but Derek doesn’t move. “Let him go.”

 

“Let’s have it out John.” Distantly, Derek can hear Leo crying, woken by the noise.  “How many times are you going to tear at us? At my marriage?”

 

“Let him go!” Stiles shouts, tugging at his arm ineffectively. “Now!”

 

Derek slams John back once more for good measure before he steps away. The sheriff slumps back against the wall, face purple with rage as he draws in noisy breaths. Stiles rushes down to him, hands checking for injury. Leo's wailing now, but Stiles either doesn't hear or refuses to move from his father. 

 

“I’m not your wife," Derek says, shaking with the amount of restraint it takes not to snap . "I'm not her, but you’ve made me pay for all of her mistakes.”

 

Both Stilinkskis stare up at him.

There’s more than just pain in Stiles’ face, he’s lost him.

Derek takes in the enormity of what he’s done, the complete loss of control. All of Stiles’ walls are back up. But the knowledge that he can fix this thrums through him. He has a name, and even as the betrayal cuts deep, it severs the last remaining tie.

 Derek thinks of what Dr. Bane warned, and even though it’s the last thing he wants to do, he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No words for how late this is, I thought i posted this and when i finally wandered over to write the last chapter i saw this one hadn't been posted!! Either way, i'm late as heeeeeell. Sorry. This story is wrapping up anyway, i've moved on to a Mail Order Bride AU and a HS au...I'll wiat until they're complete to post so no one waits so long.
> 
> xC


End file.
